SinsBestForgotten[Continued from Tears Under Moonlight] Having suffered explosions, military quarantines, and general chaos, the University had been reduced to a shadow of its former glory. Gillian effectively had free rein of the campus when she arrived that evening - having just come from a quiet dinner with her… lover… mentor… fiancé? It was difficult to tell with Seabhac AKA the future Emperor of Chaos. And such designations were unlikely conversation, at least for the foreseeable future. Getting back to basics, as it were, felt like a blessed relief after the recent madness. Initially, she’d visited her room, finding it messy. Ginger’s doing, undoubtedly. She felt her doppleganger nearby, somewhere within the building. An uneasy, yet welcome, sensation. Her second port of call was equally ineffectual - Professor Hobbs’s office being locked and empty. Yet, through the window, she could see the room in disarray, books scattered and left open. "Like he was frantically researching something?" she mumbled to herself. Again, she felt the familiar pull of whatever connection she and Ginger possessed, more urgent this time. It drew her through the building, back to where everything had begun… the old laboratory. As she entered the darkened corridor, she heard two familiar voices. Ginger. Frightened. Pleading. And Professor Hobb. A deadly calmness in his tone. They were in the room where she’d discovered that accursed mirror, a lifetime ago. A feeling of dread passed over Gillian, though whether it was her own premonition or splashover from her link with Ginger, she didn't know. She sent comforting, calming thoughts to Ginger, letting her know she was nearby, and stood silently in the shadow of the doorway to listen. “… sorry that it must be this way,” Hobbs said. “I truly am.” “Well, I’m with you on that, pal,” Ginger chimed back in ‘Gillian’s’ voice. “Sooo, why don’t you untie me and we can call it a night, huh?” “I fear not,” Hobbs replied. Gillian could hear him tearing papers and moving something. “I should have done this years ago. If I had, none of this would be necessary.” “Well, thanks for the forward thinking,” Ginger retorted. Hobbs’s voice grew muffled as he moved away from the door, but he seemed to be crying. And repeating one word… a name. “Liliane.” The suicide from Gillian’s room. Gillian drew in a breath. He'd told Gillian she lived in the same room as her, and that she'd committed suicide due to the stress of school. And now here they were with that mirror that looked down into Gillian's bedroom from the vantage point of her ceiling. What did Ginger say about the runes she'd found on the floor in her bedroom? The ones directly under where the mirror looked? Something about them being used to interact or communicate with a daemon named Sathariel. Ginger called her a Death Angel. And she also used the term "Devouring Mother." Gillian winced and wondered what it would be like to do nothing but watch sunsets and rainbows and be surrounded by puppies and kittens. She started to proceed through the doorway, then paused as she wondered if Professor Hobbs knew he had Ginger tied up in there and not her. Would it be a shock to see the two of them together? Did she care? On one hand a part of her was ready to be sympathetic toward him, as it seemed apparent he had cared for this girl. On the other hand, he'd crossed a line. Maybe several, if he was the one who had created the mirror and the runes. Gillian drew herself up and stepped into the room. "Professor Hobbs." As Gillian suspected, Hobbs had Ginger tied up and sitting atop a growing pile of papers and lab journals. She leaned against the mirror, its surface reflecting the room. The old professor was preparing an alchemic mixture; its contents sharp and bitter. Probably flammable from the way he handled it. At the voice, he turned, dropping the container in his hand. It shattered on the floor, splattering himself and the makeshift pyre. Fantastic, Gillian thought. All we need now is a spark. “Gillian? What?” He sputtered, glancing between Gillian and Ginger. “Impossible.” Ginger glared at Gillian, “Took you long enough!” Gillian returned Ginger's glare with an exasperated look of her own. "How in Seven Hells do you manage to get yourself into these sorts of situations?" She turned to Hobbs. "And just what exactly is it that you're doing with my familiar?" she demanded. Ginger sighed, "It's an unappreciated talent." Hobbs stepped back, nearly tripping over a large tome. "Your familiar? I..." His gaze darted back and forth between them. Finally, some comprehension ignited in the old mind. "Well, I suppose it's fate. I wouldn't want you separated." He muttered a cantrip, and the door behind her slammed shut with a deafening crack. The lock falling into place resounded. She recognized the hand movements he made - arthritic, but skilled. A Perdo Corpus spell; meant to shut down her muscles, paralyze her. His initially shock had passed. Gillian's knee-jerk reaction was to set him on fire with magical flame (OOC: and then write a thesis :-) ), but she didn't want to risk setting other things on fire--like the papers and journals and, yes, herself and Ginger. And really, what she wanted from him was information. Not just any information, but the truth. All of it. And what better way to do that than to go to the source? His mind. She created a trump of him in her mind's eye. No matter if he finished his spell--she didn't need her muscles for this work. When it was ready she forced a connection. The Trump took shape within seconds, as someone so woefully... human... was easily defined and illustrated. A simple push of her psyche stripped away any defenses the old man had, laying his mind bare to her. So skilled was she, Gillian doubted he'd even sense the intrusion. Such was the Power of the Blood. Time slowed, the room fading away as she plunged into thought and memory. She saw Liliane through his eyes; a young discerning girl, shy and eager to please. She hung on his every word, fascinated by magick and all its concepts, ever pushing the boundaries. The perfect student. The perfect apprentice. The perfect tool. A lifetime of research passed through Gillian's mind; an encyclopedic collection of daemons and spirits. In particular, Sathariel. Hobbs's private obsession. A daemon so dangerous, so powerful none had witnessed its summoning and lived. Only a fool would bring it into being. And yet, her secrets were vast. A temptation impossible to ignore. If only the correct protection and binding runes could be utilized, the Devouring Mothering could be brought to heel. Of course, if one made the smallest mistake... death. Or worse. It wasn't difficult to slip the hints of Sathariel's existence into Liliane's path. And the girl, so eager to please, ate them up like breadcrumbs. Following the path he set for her, 'developing' the runes and spells he'd been so eager to test. He watched her work through the mirror, delighting in her obsessive focus on this singular task. And when she came to him, he privately tutored her in the ways of Binding, secretly encouraging her. When the night came, he could hardly contain his excitement - spying on the girl as she carved and drew the protection circles of his design. But when Liliane called Sathariel into existence, any exuberance transformed into abject horror. The Death Angel, a pregnant mass of blood and bone and limbs, rose from the floor. And while the creature's impossible bulk remained contained within the runes, its dominating presence remained unrestrained. Hobbs felt the Call, even through the mirror's arcane connection. He needed, wanted, yearned to return to the womb of destruction, to be freed from his prison of Flesh. To fall into the embrace of pure chaos. Desperate, he cut the connection - but not the image of Liliane feeding eagerly feeding pieces of herself to the daemon seared itself into his soul. Hobbs did his best to clean the room, and so little of the body remained to be troublesome. There were no family, no true friends, no one to ask questions. Erasing Liliane from existence wasn't that difficult. Soon, only the nightmares remained. And they would have been a small burden to pay for his dark secret, if not for a new young woman - bright and beautiful and curious - asking questions... Questions he could not, dared not answer. Gillian's perceptions returned to the room, the moment. Hobbs's lips moving in slow-motion, desperately trying to complete his spell... unaware that his secrets were now hers. She superseded her own will over his, almost absently, and his lips froze in mid-sentence, his entire body no longer his to control. "I know what you did to Liliane," she growled as she walked toward him, her eyes sharp and bright. "Exactly what are you hoping to do here, right now?" Without waiting for him to reply, Gillian ripped the answer from his mind. She was not covert about it. She wanted him to know what power she had over him. Hobbs lurched forward, as if physically attached to the thoughts. Blood trickled down his nose. He touched his face in abject horror, examining his crimson-stained fingers. His hopes were selfish and cruel. He'd intended to burn the remaining evidence of his crime, including the last notes and journals he'd kept. And the mirror. That'd damned mirror. Gillian would be the perfect excuse, a curious girl accidentally summoning something out of her control and dying in the resulting fire. No one would doubt his word, once he told the Professors of her 'strange behavior.' He felt guilty for it. But the terror of his previous crime had undone him. "So you thought you'd sacrifice another soul to pay for what you'd done," Gillian said softly, slowly. She brought her face to within a few inches of his, her expression grim. "And I trusted you." She poked her finger at his chest. "I TRUSTED YOU." Anger welled up in Gillian's chest as memories ran through her mind, crisp and clear and bright: Lyra's dark smile, her fingers flexing as she readied a spell. "You don't belong here." The Princess Florimel Society Sisters, pointing at her and laughing. Her father balling his fists and looking at the floor. "Why couldn't it have been you?" Cybele stepping toward her. "I know you hate me, Gillian. And I know why—even though you'd never admit it. You desire what I have. The power. The knowledge. The magic. But you know you could become like me. This scares you. But I also saw your wildness last night. And how much you relished that power flowing through you. Stripping away your resolve and allowing the Wyld to consume you. You took pleasure in that abandon. And I dare say you would leap at the opportunity again." Herself looking at Cybele through spread fingers. Whispering back to her. "And that is what I'm afraid of. The knowledge and power are enticing, but I'm afraid I won't be able to control them. Or myself." Fiona, smiling at her. "Come, sister. Let us show them who truly rules here." Gillian stifled the memories as she stepped back and drew herself up. She addressed Hobbs. "Fine. You want to meet Sathariel? I can arrange that. Your own personal one-on-one." She cocked her head and smiled. "I wonder if she's hungry? Because you're going to feed bits of yourself to her. I imagine the pain will be exquisite and you'll want to stop but you won't be able to. It should take awhile for you to die. But that'll give you plenty of time to remember little Liliane, and what you did to her." Hobbs wavered, his old limbs numbed by the misfires in his brain - a mind stripped and reassembled like clay. Dimly, he registered the words spat at him. “Gillian. Please. You can’t… I’m sorry…” "Really? You were going to burn me alive and you think saying 'I'm sorry' is going to make me forgive you?" Gillian spat. "Unbelievable." She turned to Ginger and focused her will on the rope bindings. It was really an easy thing, to fray and unweave. Why did she ever think this was hard? "Get up and stand behind me. Or leave. Your choice." Ginger blinked, relieved to be free, but also confused by Gillian’s words. For the first time, the spirit-made-flesh feared its Bonded. But that fear paled to what she saw in Gillian’s eyes. She hastily scrambled over the fallen papers and books. “Gillian?” she said, worried. “What are you doing?” Gillian shrugged. "Simply giving him what he wants." It was time. Gillian reviewed the knowledge she'd gleaned from Hobb's mind and started creating the wards to contain Sathariel and to protect herself and Ginger, if she stayed. She put Hobbs at the center, letting him watch, paralyzed and frozen as she constructed his demise. There were many Incarnations of Sathariel, she realized. But Hobbs’s research had focused upon the Voice of the Blood - her most primal form. Items and debris from around the room - paper, dust, cobwebs, book-bindings - were plucked from the ground and walls by Gillian’s Will and reshaped, repurposed into suitable materials for the wards. Hobbs fell over, knocked prone by the miniature hurricane. Distantly, Gillian heard Ginger’s voice, pleading. “Don’t. Do. This.” But another voice had already deafened her. A Voice of Blood and Chaos. It rose from every crack in the floor, every imperfection of brick and mortar. And with it, ichorous shadows oozed up, spreading across the floor like cancer. They pooled and clotted together, chunks of meat and bone swirling and sinking and rising again. Abortive limbs formed in the vortex, reaching, grasping, only to collapse in upon themselves - surrendering to their own imperfections. An alluring song touched Gillian’s mind - like the siren call of a thousand-thousand birds, urging, calling her. Offering a dissolution so sensual, so liberating, it shamed her to not to surrender to it. Even if the wards hadn’t deafened her to the true Voice, she’d stood before the Nyx and resisted. What was a mere Death Angel compared to that? Hobbs, however, stood naked before the Voice. Lost, he knelt before the swirling pool of bile and blood, “She’s so beautiful.” With a piece of glass, he flayed strips from his stomach - adding them to the crimson slurry. A dull awareness shone in his eyes; his too-conscious mind locked behind the slowly diminishing prison of muscle and flesh. The stink of bowel reached Gillian, as Hobbs finally cut through the viscera and exposed his innards. He fed a loop of intestine into the vortex - which accepted this offering, unspooling the man greedily. Ginger mewed in horror, burying her face into Gillian’s back. “Enough,” she begged. “Enough!” Gillian exhaled. Maybe he had experienced enough. Fine. She gave Hobbs a magical shove so he was completely in Sathariel's grasp, then mouthed the incantation to dismiss the daemon. Hobbs’s emptied torso fell forward, still twitching, still alive. The daemon accepted its new ‘child,’ consuming his body and adding it to her own. With a sucking hiss, the pool swelled for an instant - phlegmy tendrils reaching and grabbing, cleansing the room of anything they touched. As Gillian dispelled the Death Angel, the room shifted back into Reality - the corruptive aura fading away. All evidence that Hobbs and his collection of sins existed went with it. The room now empty, unnaturally pristine. Ginger cried against her back, “Why did you do that? Gillian, what happened? What was that all about?” "That was about not being a victim. Ever again." She turned and looked at her familiar, somewhat bemused at Ginger's histrionics. "He was hell-bent on burning you alive along with that damn mirror, you know. It was all to cover up his part in and assuage his guilt over Liliane's supposed suicide. Remember the daemon-summoning symbols under the rug in my room? They were Liliane's handiwork. He tricked Liliane into doing his dirty work for him and she died just like he did, while he watched from a safe distance through the mirror. Do you still feel sorry for him now? He certainly didn't feel sorry for you." She paused. "That mirror went through to Sathariel, by the way. I don't think I would spend any more time in our old room until I figure out a way to cut the connection." Ginger grimaced as Gillian laid out the gruesome scenario. She stared at the blackened circle on the floor - a scar of spirals and vortices. “There are better ways to die,” she said. “But no. I’m not going to grieve for him.” She paused, looking into Gillian’s eyes. “It’s you I’m worried about, kitten. Sometimes, I wonder… which one of you I’m actually talking to.” Gillian bit her lower lip in a very Gillian-like fashion. "It's us, Ginger. Always us." She turned partly away, her hair hiding her face. "Besides," Gillian continued, her tone harder, "you're always trying to get me to stop being a milquetoast wallflower." Ginger blinked, “Well, then I think I knocked that one out of the park.” She shook her head and retreated toward the door. “I think I’ve had enough for one night,” she said. Her head turned, “Thank you. I guess the celebrations are over.” Gillian didn't reply, but stared mutely at the blackened marks on the floor. [Continued in Phoenix from the Ashes] |
