Peace, at Last

[Vylrath]

It all suddenly occurred to him! He presented himself a little taller by straightening his posture so that his shoulders were completely militant.

“Ah! You are my escort then! My father DID send you! He always did have poor taste in women…but my mother, Queen Elysia, will want to meet you—“ explained Vylrath, but his words were cut “short” by a small imp of a girl. He eyed her with a great loss of interest. Was she from a kingdom seeking reward for her family’s duty in the war?

“I am Vylrath Xanathi. I have no children or wives…be gone, beggar! You have no place here! Escort…take this thing out of my sight!” He fluttered his hand in front of him, as if to ward off an insect.

His history had always been bleak and secretive. Vylrath had never been one to gossip about his past life- even with his many lovers and wives. He seldom spoke to his children and often kept to himself unless in times of war. From what he was describing, any child psychologist might guess that he was in denial of being alone.

There would be no true “Queen Elysia,” to introduce to Caela, his newfound escort. His mother had been killed, but these strange Blood powers must have taken his mind, to a more pleasant place, in which his mother was still living.

“Your first duty is to get rid of this beggar child!” Vylrath spat at Igraine and kicked up some sand in her face to blind her in a painful motion.

Caela’s father was still alive in this body, but he was trapped against his younger self. He constantly fought the battle to speak, but was quickly blocked out by this new personality enveloping his mind. He not only had the appearance of a young man, but he also had the attitude. Caela would learn that he would have a lot of growing up to do. If these powers were anything useful, maybe Caela could show him what to make of them. Maybe time could heal his mistakes.

These "Blood," powers were a tool that any God would want to possess, but this younger version didn’t have any grasp of control on such matters.

He would never remember Kahlan, unless his former memories were restored. Their time together would be erased, unless something could change that fact. If he could gain control of these new powers, he would most certainly be absolute with his inner strength.

[Jen]

So that was Kahlan's child? The Faerie had a hand in her growth. As far as Caela could figure, Kahlan's child would never be older than hers. In fact it should only be two months old at the very most. The very look of the child was one that breathed Kahlan and the world she had retreated to. She did not love Vylrath, per se, but she did care for him. A sigh escaped Caela as she looked at Vylrath -- ignoring his hurtful words and holding her hand out to Igraine.

"You have a lovely name, Igraine." She told the child as they walked toward her rooms within the castle, ignoring Vylrath. She was surprised that the girl did not retreat from her hand, which was the one not covered in blood and gore. It seemed as if the child had made up in her mind that this place was filled with insanity and she must do her best to ignore it.

Once they were at the door of her room, Caela glanced down at Igraine and smiled. The child had no real trace of Vylrath and would grow up with her mother's inherent beauty. Not that Vylrath was distasteful to look at, not in the least. It was his personality that made him incredibly difficult to swallow. Caela smiled as she thought about dismembering her father, but as if recalling her small guest suddenly -- the once Queen of Xexoria opened the door to her rooms.

"I have two young children that you may enjoy playing with. They are almost two." Caela felt she should add in that bit of information, so that the girl might not feel like she had to babysit. In fact, when she stepped into the room with Igraine -- the Nanny of her children nearly had a stroke. Forestalling any speech, Caela introduced Igraine to Amelia and snatched the arm of her father, drawing him into the next room. Her room.

"You will be quiet while I change and bathe. You will not go anywhere unless you are told to do so. If you so much as move a fraction of an inch, and I will know, I will chain you to a chair with your feet so close to the fire in that fireplace -- that you will wish for your legs to be removed from your body." Caela spoke after she'd closed the door so as to keep the children from overhearing. She wasn't one to intentionally traumatize any child.

Without giving Vylrath the chance to speak his consent, for she was sure some sort of stupid statement would drip from his youthful lips, Caela walked across the room, shredding the bloody garment attached to her body. It hurt to do so, the blood had dried to the delicate and soft flesh in places, but Caela had learned to deal with the pain. Part of her was locked away, as it had been when Vylrath had done unspeakable torture to her in her youth. In her father's presence, no matter his mindset or age, Caela was not going to give him another chance to hurt her or her children. Or Igraine, for that matter, Caela didn't know the child but already she was intensely protective of her.

Starke naked as the day she was born, Caela stepped into the washtub in the room. It was richly appointed and had been filled earlier for Caela's return. The water was warm, but growing cold. As she sank beneath the surface of the water Caela hissed lightly. The bite mark, claw marks, and little patches of skin missing from the dress being shredded all burned like fire. Sucking in a breath, the young woman dipped beneath the surface of the water -- quickly working out the bloody tangles with the deft fingers of a mother.

When she surfaced, Caela leaned her head back on the edge of the tub and watched Vylrath in the firelight. He was handsome, but he didn't remember a damnable thing about anything important to him. He didn't know who she was, and he'd called her nothing better than a whore. Snatching a bar of soap from a nearby table, Caela began scrubbing away the blood that had not dissolved of its own volition in the water. She was amazed at just how blood red the bath water had become. It was as if the contents of Baleron's body, and hers, and been deposited in the tub instead of hot water. Shaking her head, Caela glanced over at Vylrath once again. If he was going to refer to her as a whore, she was going to make him the most miserable man the world had ever known.

With every inch of her stinging and sore, Caela stood and let the water cascade down her body. It was nothing that Vylrath hadn't seen before. Granted she'd had considerably less curve to her body the last time he'd seen it. Now that she was a proper woman, well, there was plenty to oogle. The fact that she didn't care, as she casually wrapped her body in a large towel, showed how very much she thought of her father's loss of memory. He wouldn't remember a single thing he'd done to her or what her body looked like. It would be like seeing a strange woman with a perfect body naked for the first time. In a way, it was incredibly amusing.

Caela stepped out of the tub and finished drying off without speaking to Vylrath. She wrapped her body in the towel and searched for clothes.

"You may not remember who I am, what I am, or where you stand with me Father, but I have no problem with attempting to make you remember. He would smell her and maybe, almost, just barely recognize the scent as something familiar. Something divinely worth having. Something completely dangerous to touch (especially on this island in his befuddled state). Before he would know what had occurred, Caela was standing in front of him -- close enough to touch and with enough heady desire to turn any man into mush. It was something she'd learned from Kahlan in the time she'd spent with the woman before she'd left.

Caela had no desire to touch Vylrath, but she managed to get close enough to him that if he moved a single muscle his skin would touch hers. The room itself seemed to be filled with electrified air. Just what would the old demon do? Caela was in her element and he was sorely out of his.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Caela turned from Vylrath.

"Yes?"

"I would very much like to speak with Vylrath, miss Caela!"

It was Igraine. Caela pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment. Here she was, wanting to gut the son of a...

"Miss Caela? I came a very long way to see Vylrath!"

It was spoken with a childs sense of time and place and Caela squeezed her eyes shut.

"Okay, give me a few minutes to get him decent. He doesn't need to be around children like he is now!"

Well, Caela grimaced, that sounded very improper. Then again she was the mostly naked one in the room. This made her laugh quite a lot and she rummaged through her bags for some clothing that might fit her now younger father. There were only pants fit for a female, but a shirt or two that was masculine. They had been the only thing she could salvage from what the Yuurei had brought for her and Baleron. A twinge of sadness filled her heart, but she quickly shoved it aside. Now was not the time to grieve. She tossed the shirt on the pants and pointed at them.

"Change your clothes. I'll not have you parading around in bloody clothes in front of my children or Igraine."

[Vylrath]

Why do these women keep calling me Father? He certainly wasn’t a Priest and he knew damn well that he didn’t have any children. However, Caela, the woman who had escorted him to her home, constantly reminded him that he was her father. It was a ridiculous notion that he had fathered children without his knowledge.

At the mention of clean clothes, he immediately stripped his bloodied attire. Vylrath studied the bloodstains on his shirt as if they were fingerprints to his past: he couldn’t recall anything. He threw the old clothes into the fire. His young physique had not changed except in size. Oddly enough, he assumed that having a masculine figure at his age was normal.

“Unless you have some sort of proof, please stop calling me your Father. How could I of had you without remembering the woman? How could I of also had this other child, who relentlessly seeks me?” He motioned his hand toward Igraine. “ I have never met you, until now! Show me proof!” he demanded sharply. While he questioned her behavior, he dressed himself in the child’s clothing.

The fire gave him a different silhouette. He seemed different, like he was missing a part of himself that no one could reach. Vylrath was incomplete.

“My head has been on fire since I found myself on the beach. There is something you aren’t telling me! Something happened to me there…why were we in bloodied clothes?” His voice quickened to a strained child’s voice.

The blood curse thickened his veins with its venom. Emotions he had never acknowledged before, suddenly came flooding into his current memory. He suddenly realized she was standing in front of him with a towel. His face softened and turned red. He turned his back to her sheepishly and folded his arms as if to shield himself from her.

“Put something on please…until you are fully clothed, I will not continue this conversation. We should hurry so we can make the dinner that the Doctor invited us to. I have a feeling he can answer my questions.” Vylrath explained. As if sidetracked, he remembered the marks on her body. He could visibly see the marks covering her neck. “Who gave you those cuts and bruises?” His back was still turned to her.

[Jen]

Caela laughed at his tone of voice. It was the first time in her life that Vylrath had sounded, well, scared. At least of her anyway. Dropping the towel, and sliding into a soft silk gown of pale green, the young woman mused as she turned toward the fire.

"You will have to help me button this." There were at least thirty buttons at the back of the dress, and when it was closed it would be almost like a second skin. The dress itself was as soft as air and the skirt moved like water -- obviously a dress fit for royalty. Caela quickly knotted her hair up into a bun in order to have her hands free to hold the dress as her father buttoned it. He would, because she would not allow him to leave the room if he refused. She would turn to mean, nasty, childish tactics if it came down to it. He would do as she asked. As if humoring him, Caela answered her father's innocent questions.

"A mean man hurt me and my lover tried to save me, but he was killed. That is where you came in, only my lover was already gone." Caela stared into the fire, trying not to cry for Baleron. She needed to be strong for herself and her children, but she knew that the flood would eventually break. Taking a deep breath she shook her shoulders at Vylrath, one side of the gown slumping to the side to reveal countless scars from blades, whips, and other impliments of torture. For the briefest of moments, the sight was ghastly, but when the entire backside of the woman was taken into consideration -- it was almost beautiful. The scars were no longer raised welts, no longer sore and bleeding, her back no longer bruised. Vylrath would not remember doing this to her, and quite frankly she didn't want to be reminded.

"We should hurry. I am not sure why Igraine is here or why Kahlan sent her to see you. You may not remember having relations with the High Queen of Ulster, but you did and I hope some day you remember just how lucky you are that she blessed you, of all people, with a child."

[Vylrath]

He looked at her in awe-not at her beauty-but in the jagged map that glistened with raw scars. It was the first time that he had noticed her beauty and not the strength in her voice. He looked at her as a woman and something nagged in the back of his consciousness about her scent. However, he would be distracted by her dress- it needed tending to and he would be more than happy to oblige her. Vylrath wouldn’t let her know that he had to stand on tip-toes to finish the last button. He was surprisingly short for a young man with his physique, but he didn’t think it was anything out of the ordinary.

“I will kill this man if we ever cross paths. You have my word!” said Vylrath, suddenly filled with enthusiasm about his situation. If only Vylrath knew that the killer rested in his reflection…

He stepped away from her and admired the soft tone and gentle grace she carried. “You’re children are very lucky to have a woman like you as their mother. Their father is a fool for leaving you. I wouldn’t let something so fragile and beautiful out of my sight.” He boasted his words as if he knew her. Something inside of him told him that he should not leave her side.

The curse inside of him grew like a silent plague. Right now, it was infecting every fiber of his body. His mind was quickly dismissing the reality of who he was. Objects and people might jolt his memory back, but it would have to be literally dropped on him. The curse worked to keep Vylrath as their host. It provided Vylrath with cunning intelligence, physique and a strange aura about him. Even his eyes had changed dramatically: the once silver pupil had changed to a desperate shade of black.

“Let’s get going. I’m sure the Doctor will straighten out this confusion. I know that I was not with a woman…you have me confused since I am only sixteen…but I would gladly help raise her. I apologize for how I acted earlier.” If not the apology, then his attitude might shock Caela. It was unlike him to even consider another person at his level, let alone learn that he made a mistake. It was one to go down in the history books. He started to make his move toward the exit in hopes to find an explanation.

[Jen]

It was his attitude that shocked Caela. She fought hard against herself to hide her surprise and keep her jaw from falling open. As a child and as a Queen, Caela had been taught to school her emotions behind a mask of indifference. She looked at Vylrath as if he were merely a bug unfortunate enough to find himself in her way. Even with his new look Caela had a hard time stomaching everything she had suffered at his hand. So, when he offered to kill the murderer and her torturer she burst into laughter. Oh if he only knew!

The sound of commotion outside the bedroom caught Caela's attention and broke her fit of amusement. Pressing a finger to her lips the young woman crept silently to the door. She was very graceful for a child that had once been quite gangly and malnourished. The dress hugged her tight in all the right places and the skirt was plyable enough that if they found themselves in a fight it would not inhibit her abilities. If Vylrath had taught her one thing, it was to fight -- and her skills had been honed as Queen of Xexoria. Pregnant she might have been, but she had focused her studies in order to protect herself and her children. In the time spent with Kahlan, Caela had worked on her skill with daggers and shortswords - attempting to perfect her skills. She was not perfect, but even a sword master would be proud of her.

Caela pressed her ear against the door and her eyes and face lit up. She looked at Vylrath and without hesitation threw open the door.

--------

The room beyond was in a very pleasant chaotic upheaval. Amelia twittered in the background behind the twins as they sat in front of a figure crouched in a heavy black cloak. By the murmuring sounds the visitor was obviously of the feminine persuasion, but the cloak obscured the finer details of her body and her voice. Sebilla and Trydian were beside themselves grabbing at the cloaked figure, sucking on the edge of her pristine cloak and grasping onto her strong slender hands. Those hands were perfect in every sense of the word. Strong, lean, full of power and yet delicate and slender -- perfectly feminine hands. The skin on the female's hands was an incredible shade of soft rose and cream with the faintest hint of a sparkle. The skin seemed to glow within the tiny room, as if everything else was drab compared to those beautiful hands.

Sebilla took one of the hands and pulled herself up, to which the cloaked figure expressed quiet amusement and pride. One hand, with perfectly well kept fingernails, darted out as the girl toddled the rest of the way into the cloak. A coo of pleasure escaped from Sebilla and a soft thrilling laugh bubbled forth from the woman. Beside Vylrath Caela was absolutely beside herself, as if all that mattered to her now was this figure in the cloak. It was as if the world had ceased to exist to the young woman as she stared at the back of the inky black cloak.

"Mama!" It was Trydian and he held his arms out to Caela as he noticed her. She smiled warmly and affectionately to her son as she crossed the room. The cloaked figure rose and turned slightly -- her appearance still annoyingly covered from Vylrath's perspective.

"I didn't think you had come!" Caela leaned in and kissed the woman on the cheek.

"I almost didn't make the last boat. I spent some time in the dining hall, thinking that you would eventually come. I am glad that I asked the stewards where to find you, before you sent these little imps to bed." The voice was soft, coy, and incredibly...real. Oh it would sound familiar to Vylrath. He had heard it once before, many years ago. The sweet voice had been lost to time itself when...but Vylrath wouldn't remember that now would he? He would just see a cloaked figure talking warmly to a very beautiful young woman.

"You missed a fiasco. Father killed Baleron and took on his blood curse, and well...I think you should see for yourself."

As Caela finished she gestured in the direction that Vylrath was standing and the cloaked figure turned.

It was an achingly slow motion, but infinitely graceful on a level held by few in the world. As the figure turned she lifted one of those exquisite hands and drew back her hood. Chesnut waves fell down her back, mingling with the inky darkness of her cloak, and pure turquoise eyes settled on the young Vylrath.

Beauty was a word that lost all meaning when compared to Isabella Aedren Rivenfelde. She had been stunning as the Queen of Xexoria and Death had done nothing to diminish that quality. The only person that might outshine the jewel of Xexorian monarchy might be Kahlan Lothair of Ulster. Both women had been to places and visited Death in ways that no mortal could ever understand, and they had been blessed with a bewitching beauty that could bring a room to attention with a single glance. Isabella smiled as she looked at her once husband and bowed her head. There should have been a crown there, but as it were the very light of the room seemed to coalesce in her hair.

"Why, hello Vylrath. It has been a very, very long time. You look...younger." Isabella smiled again and turned her attention to her daughter. "I see what you mean."

Isabella crossed the room to Vylrath, stopping a few short feet from where he stood. She released the clasp on her cloak and pulled the garment off, laying on the back of a chair. She crossed her arms under her breasts, wearing a simple traveling outfit, and looked nothing short of miraculous standing there in that room.

"Good luck, Mother." Caela said with a laugh as she scooped the children up in her arms and ushered Amelia out of the room and into the room she shared with the children. She left Isabella and Vylrath alone together without a second thought, a smile spreading across her face.

[Vylrath]

Her scent burned him emotionally and physically. It was not her, he knew that. His mind was on fire, screaming for release of the images that cascaded like a violent avalanche of truth.

She was not the woman he had married, or had children with. She was now an accessory to Death- a living portal to this world. His mind warned her of getting close to her, the power urging him to retreat into madness. He had to get away from here, but his feet remained planted where he stood. The flames in the fireplace reacted to his dark passion; they danced wildly to his constant change of moods.
Her soul stank to him- impurity should tantalize a demon, but this scent was a warning. He knew the place well and he had
met Death only once.

His old voice returned, although strained: “Phantom…traitor…” his words sounded pained, forced out by the old Vylrath, still trying to escape his new version. His eyes became completely covered in their new shade of black. Not even a hint of life glimmered from behind the darkness.

“I waited for you. I searched for you and now you come from the hands of Death!” Isabella might not understand his ranting, but he knew the danger of someone coming back from the dead- especially if they were mortal. Death could easily make her into a portal, to reach this world, if they still had connection to one another.
He suddenly realized his body and the state in which he was living in. His hands shook upon realization and he shook his head wildly to himself. No, no, no. Not this way! He would have been content knowing that he was reaching Death, but now he had to relive his entire life again.

“Get out of my sight! I won’t let you near my daughter, mortal.” He glared at her, lacing the word “mortal” with hatred. He felt he had enough strength to rip the smiling skull from her shoulders.

He realized that while played as Death’s wench, he was adjusting to living in despair and mourning. Had she even thought of him or cared that their kingdom had lost? He doubted it. He remembered the blame they put on him for her death and the exile the kingdom had placed on him. His hate grew for her and he let his fangs bare with apparent disgust.
Vylrath struggled to keep control. He didn’t know what he was becoming, but he could feel everything around him that carried a pulse. He was sure that Caela could hear his hate and disgust, but at this moment, he couldn’t give a damn.

[Jen]

The words that came from Vylrath were hurtful but Isabella was beyond his force. He couldn't touch her, he could barely hold himself together. Isabella smiled, but it was a darker more malignant creation borne by a woman that has seen Death and lived with the God of Death -- if life it could be called. The once Queen of Xexoria clasped her hands behind her back, the buttons of her white shirt pulling taut at the front. A handsome woman indeed, was there any doubt that Caela was this woman's daughter?

"I see you haven't changed much, Vylrath. You always did manage to accuse me of being a whore when you slept with every woman that wasn't glued to the floor in the Palace. As I recall, you were very promiscuous and cared less for me when I was alive than the dirt on your shoe." Isabella freed one hand from behind her back, gesturing at Vylrath as she spoke. She took a few steps forward, towering over the shorter and younger version of her ex husband. "You have everything to answer for. Our only surviving child has been tortured endlessly by you. Give me one reason why I shouldn't call Death here right now to end your sorry existance on this plane!"

Isabella was now so close to him that he would feel the fiery heat of her body, her sweet lavender and rose scent, and the very power of her body. She was even more intimidating after Death than she had been in life.

"You, you sorry son of a bitch! Trydian is your son. You inflicted things on our daughter that I am ashamed of. Do you think I did not see? Do you think I was blind? I was allowed to view the world of life because I refused to move on. I spent so, so very long in Purgatory. Death himself had to come and get me and lead me beyond the veil into the Underworld. It was only then that we would not part. He could show me everything and I was there to listen. Something you never had the decency to offer to me when I was alive! I was torn up inside, barely myself, when he found me. I wanted nothing more than to come back to your sorry ass and raise my daughter!"

Those once beautiful hands had turned into deadly weapons as she fisted them at her side. Isabella's face was pink with a rage that made her so deeply and incredibly beautiful that any man in his right mind would flee before it. Anything that beautiful had to be deadly.

"When I saw what you did to our daughter I begged Death to let me kill you myself. I begged him to let me flay the skin from your bones and feed it to the hounds of hell. You are lucky that he did not oblige me, Vylrath. You are alive because of his patience. He finally let me go when Caela gave birth to my grandchildren and the Yuurei descended from the skies. He thought that it was pertinent that I exist once more for my family, that I become the weapon that Xexoria needed against the invasion. Imagine my surprise at being late! I arrived in a very large crater in Rivenfelde city."

Isabella had since resorted to forcing her rage into constructive pacing, instead of strangling her ex husband. "I have not been able to watch your motives since I came back to this plane a year ago. I have made my bond with my daughter and relieved her sadness at my death. She knows that it was not her fault that I died, that it was my duty to give her life. A life that you very nearly ruined with your trecherous acts! Give me one reason why I shouldn't tear you limb from limb, why I shouldn't snap your head off your shoulders and feed it to the carrion birds. You are nothing more than a lecherous old man that deserves to be castrated!"

Isabella was in his face again, and there was no hint of mortality in her vibrant turquoise eyes. She took a deep breath and a step back, composing herself and smoothing her travelling pants at her hips, worrying the fabric with her fingers.

"I am not mortal, Vylrath. I never have been fully mortal even when I was alive in Xexoria. Kahlan was fond of me and realized some similarities in her powers. She did some research on my behalf and found my birth father. Imagine, my mother slept with a King and bred me. The King of the Forest no less. I am part of the Faerie and I have never been mortal. That is why I aged slower than most women and why I eventually stopped aging at all. I doubt you noticed that when you were sleeping with other women. Its a miracle I even had children at all by you."

Isabella stared at Vylrath a moment and then laughed, crossing her arms under her breasts once again.

"You are nothing more than a sorry excuse for a bag of flesh and bones. You have no right to accuse me of deserting you when you had let go of me long before I died. I will not kill you, but you will never keep me from my daughter and her children. You will be thankful that you can breathe, and you will be thankful that you can sleep at night -- though how well you sleep is less than important to me. You are nothing to me, Vylrath. Nothing."

Isabella turned her back on him, showing just how very little she thought of him at that moment.

[Vylrath]

If he was a bastard, he might as well play the part. Vylrath let the essence of the power consume him entirely. He smiled awkwardly at her, his eyes almost shining with content.

Take her. Devour her!

Something spoke to him. Something ancient and screaming for release.

Vylraths was alive now and the flames knew it- inside and out, he could feel the scourge emerging.

Translucent flames appeared to crawl across his flesh. They began to take on a tint of reddish-blue opaque against the surface of his body. It looked like a poorly made shield, half-oval in shape. However, it was with purpose. The power that had been created had been called by its new Master. It was no longer done with the call of Blood, but emotions- something he had never possessed before. He felt his younger self shrink away. He accepted the new manifestation as if it were a sickness to be anticipated.

He glowered at Isabella. She would think that he was speechless for words, but he was actually commanding his newfound force. The sphere that had enveloped around his body, soon made a lightning mold around her body. She could dodge this if she were powerful enough, but his ancient body had adapted quite well to his new ability.

Vylrath watched the essence curl around her body, almost caressing. It acted sensual and almost hesitated until Vylrath gave it another silent command: to enter her.

If her soul was Fae as she stated, it would stand no chance against the dark arts. It would be easy prey. Death might kill him, but he could die knowing that she would suffer the same gift. She would feel nothing. She would be just as demonic as his damned soul.

He continued to watch it seep into her core. It was quick, like a sharp dagger. She would feel the onslaught of its force trying to wrestle her soul into submission.

As this continued, he only stood and watched her, vexing her very presence. The bitch would be his no matter what.

He was slowly trying to create the mistress of darkness.

[Jen]

Isabella could feel it. The dark plague of disease and lust and foreign matter. It touched her, caressed her, and plead to her soul for entry. The plague was borne on the darkness of a curse, on the dark and hopeless dreams of a disgusting creature. Isabella glanced at the floor, staring pointedly at the ornate rug hiding part of the stone. She fought with the whispers, with the hungering darkness, with the plague insisting on corrupting her soul and her existence. It wanted her to be his for all time. Vylrath hadn't reckoned with the reality that she was his, and had been his, since the moment they were thrown together in the cosmic game of chaos the divine so enjoy playing.

Taking a deep breath, Isabella let the force inside her body. It was her choice to do so, not his will that allowed the darkness to manifest within her. Her time in Purgatory had changed Isabella's identity as a Fae creature, she was already tainted by Death and the spirit world. She felt the corruption spread through her like wildfire, as if she were standing outside herself and capable of seeing the taint attempt to manipulate her. Isabella stood completely still, letting the force drive its way through her and when it was through, contently resting inside her like a complacent imp, the woman glanced up at Vylrath.

The gods themselves couldn't have picked a better vessel for the power Vylrath had poured into Isabella. Her turquoise eyes were ringed with a black so deep that it seemed to create a void within the very fabric of existence itself. The corruption was in control, then, and had not completely taken over the woman as Vylrath had hoped. It had, in fact, fused with her other abilities creating something far different and far more powerful than Vylrath could have hoped for.

Mistress of Darkness indeed. Isabella smiled, wickedly, and flicked her wrist as if to dismiss his attempts.

"You are great fool, Vylrath." The woman's voice was heart wrenchingly beautiful, with a sing song melodic quality to it. An almost ethereal quality played through her words as if to vex the man that had tried to undo her. "Perhaps giving me your corruption wasn't the best idea you have ever had, old man. I was already tainted by Death's hand. I was his hand maiden, you idiot."

Power, as yet uncontrollable by Isabella, manifested itself in vicious looking shadows and dark fleeting inky voids. He had created something akin to a dark fae, and yet something vastly more powerful due to the taint of gods and spirits.

[Vylrath]

“Now you are a true Queen.” He said with absolution. He admired her, until those brilliant eyes cut into him. “You are disappointed? Look at the beauty you have become. Now you are like me, no, greater! You are not a demon or a Fae…you are perfect!”

He foolishly admired her beauty and strength. The force in her sang to him and he responded quickly.

“I know you enjoy it. I can feel your soul sing in appreciation to what I have given you!” He let her dark eyes speak for themselves. He saw the pleasure she received, but failed to acknowledge. He circled her, although smaller, he felt like his old self again. With a purpose.

“Take back what those bastards took! Take back what I failed to protect! Now we can do it! We can rebuild it into something greater! Do you want our daughter, your grandchildren, to live in a shack forever?” Vylrath stood at eye-level with her.

“Do you dare deny what you have become? You are stronger than me. You could kill me, but you would feel my death, like you breathe in the air around you!”

He offered her an odd proposition- one that he didn’t think he would even propose:

“Let me be by your side again. Continue feeding off my power. I can make up for my deeds and you can gain your kingdom- we can be strength!” He continued to admire her- it was part of her curse. Her beauty almost made him speechless, but he continued his rant. “You can even be with Death. Visit anywhere in the world, physical or not, but come back to me…your Creator.”

Because he had been the last ingredient to her making, he could feel her pulse and every move she made. He could read her thoughts and see into her past- pleasant or unpleasant.

She would know that she was not herself, that what he had given her was slowly worming in her system. It would borrow quickly and relentlessly as it had done to him.

He walked up to her, eyes shining with promise. “I have always loved you. I even worshipped you once and you curse me for what I am. Do you think it is easy for me to be in this world? Now you have the power to do with as you wish, but consider what we could build together.”

He sat down on a chair, comforted by the fire. His eyes followed the quickening curves of the flames. He acted lost in his mind, but when he spoke, he sounded aware of himself.

“Isabella…” he muttered, talking to the flames. Caela would have heard everything, maybe even witnessed the horror.

[Jen]

The disease making its way through Isabella's body was almost nearing its completion as Vylrath spoke of grandoise plans and futures. Isabella, so striking in her beauty at that very moment that viewing her would hurt, stood as still as a statue waiting for the end of time. She could feel the curse wriggling and slicing through her veins, turning her into something darker -- something that bordered on the malevolent. The inherent goodness within her recoiled from the taint, making the corruption more like a game of cat and mouse.

When the process was completed, Isabella's eyes were still a startling shade of turquoise ringed with an even harsher inky blackness. Her skin, once a healthy shade of cream, now looked like a rose caught in a sudden icestorm. Her skin seemed to sparkle like snow, the soft gleam of pink forever frozen within. Isabella would feel cool to the touch but incredibly soft and inviting. This was her curse. Heavy waves of chesnut and amber hair spilled over her shoulders, frozen in a timeless fall, motionless save for the faintest breath issuing from Isabella as she coped with her disease. Everything about her seemed frozen forever in time, as if all Vylrath had done was to completely eradicate her existance -- leaving behind nothing more than an achingly beautiful husk.

Then she moved. At first it was incredibly slow, as if she wasn't entirely sure of her body or her strength. Then awareness dawned in her eyes as she looked at Vylrath. Her gaze was fierce and calculating, taking in his every move like a starving bird of prey. She listened to his ranting words and then straightened herself. She did like the feel of this...this power that he had given her. The goodness within her, the part of her that had prayed to Tempus so long ago, that part wanted nothing to do with the dark power surging in her veins, thickening and darkening her blood.

"Perfection is not always a good thing, Vylrath." Her voice, though whispered, was stunning after the curse. It was as if pure melody had spilled from her lips without so much as a second thought. Isabella paused again, held in rapt attention to the sound of her own fading voice. Her eyes widened slightly as she stared at her once husband, as if to ask if he had heard what she had. It made her smile, which was an action that could bring grown men to their knees with the desire to see it once more. It would take her quite some time to get used to the reflection in the mirror and the sound of her voice, so alien to her own ears and eyes.

"Your proposition is extremely tempting, Vylrath. I am not sure how we would go about recapturing what was ours without a battle that would garner nothing short of hatred for us." Isabella glanced up as she heard, first, the sounds of a door opening. It was Caela and Isabella smiled as she watched her daughter slip into the room.

-------

"Igraine is exhausted after today's events and her journey, so she will sleep with the children tonight. They really have taken to her. I am pleased..." Caela's voice faltered as she stared at her mother and how much she had changed while they were apart for what seemed like mere minutes. Stunned beyond words, Caela glanced at Vylrath with what only could be construed as murder in her eyes.

"What have you done?! Can you not leave anything untouched by your corruption?" Tears sprang to Caela's eyes as she vented at her father. She had finally found her mother, hardly a year had passed, and now she was not the same woman Caela had come to love. Could her father not resist taking her life and twisting it cause her pain? Tears spilled down her cheeks as she stared at her father, feeling nothing more than the child she had once been in his house, tortured and in deep anguish.

"How could you?" She whispered the words as she darted past her parents and into her room. They would hear her sobs on the other side of the door. There would be no hiding the anguish of the day's events any longer. Vylrath, as always, knew how to bring pain bubbling to the surface.

------

"I believe our daughter is hurt by your actions, Vylrath." It was a statement, but it was also mixed with mild confusion as Isabella stared at the door which held her back from her child. He would feel her pain like it was his own. That would be his downfall because no matter how he had wanted the curse to corrupt his ex wife, Isabella was still a creature of emotion and a mother. Seeing her daughter in pain was something that was almost unbearable for the striking creature to comprehend. The once majestic Queen of Xexoria looked at her ex husband and then at the door, torn between conversing further about plans and comforting anguish in her daughter's heart.

"You have hurt her deeply, Husband." It was a term Isabella had not used, but one that came naturally. She had, on several occassions, to catch herself and not use the term. "I should go to her." She waited for his permission though, as if she owed him that much at least for this newfound power and inner strength. Unlike him, however, she was still aware of herself and her position in this world.

[Vylrath]

He blinked, not knowing that she was asking for his permission. He had been taught to fight in this world and it was an unusual sight to see someone awaiting his approval. He knew that Isabella didn’t understand the power that now “lived” in their veins. He could feel her hate for him and the disgust their daughter possessed.

“Go to her. She will never accept that her blood is just as black…” He scoffed at his own remark. The pain that Isabella felt, created an overwhelming desire to confront Caela. It didn’t matter that he had already traumatized her, but he wondered why she had been so ashamed. Even before their daughter, had she always been ashamed?

Before Isabella had time to react, he pushed past her and swarmed Caela with his mood: “I ought to curse you! I didn’t have to take you! You were part of another man and I accepted you! Where is your true father? Gone!” He paced, nervous about his words. Any spark could set off a flame in Isabella. Her power is something he wouldn’t have direct control over, but he could manipulate it if it got too out of control.

“You have your mother. She is STILL your mother. We are creatures of darkness and you have always possessed the skin and blood of a demon!” He glared at her, suddenly feeling exhausted from all that had happened in such a short span of time.

“I am not the same. I can feel. I can hear your words and know what they mean!” Vylrath stopped in front of both of them.

“Your mother never got the chance, to tell you WHY I am even in her life, has she? I saved her from a marriage far worse than ours. She would have been married to some bastard Lord who would have beaten her back ragged!” In truth, he had never severely beaten her. He had worshipped the ground she walked on. He had thought of her day and night and had even fought in wars for her. “I couldn’t rest until I knew that she was safe and away from Man.” He said the word “Man” as if it were forbidden to do so.

“In my fit and rage, I changed her- but now you can always have her! She is truly immortal now, even though she possesses a black heart, she can still feel and love. This curse feeds us one another’s emotions…I can not mend what I have done in the past- I was crushed the day she died and I beat my daughter...I am no better than Lord Raynalios.”

Isabella would know that name and he wondered how she would react to him opening up an old wound. He stood there, still as if he weren’t even breathing. His eyes were lifeless from remembering the past. Images raced in his mind and he suddenly became overwrought with grief and guilt. He was beside himself. Vylrath looked to Isabella for support, knowing she would be feeling every piece of him crumbling. He wouldn’t blame her if she just placed a dagger in his heart- but she would die the same way.

He remembered when he had married her for her and nothing else. He knew nothing about kingship, or running armies.

He had made a terrible King and had even been dethroned- save for Isabella. He had given her the throne, reassuring the people that she was their true leader.
Vylrath let his sorrow drown the current emotions in Isabella. She would feel his absolute torment and the reality that he now knew who and what he was.

“I am sorry that you had children from me. I am sorry that I gave you life to only feel my fist and hateful words.” Without another word, he cowered in the shadows, into the very corner of the room, suddenly very afraid. It was the first time that he had admitted wrong doings, or even made an effort to appear distinctly human. He felt like the emotions were ripping him apart. He suddenly realized that he shouldn’t even be allowed to breathe near Isabella and Caela. For the first time in his life, he feared his own skin.

[Jen]

"Mama?"

It was Trydian. If the world could ever have produced a child so perfectly sweet in appearance, then it had to be him. The young child was a pure demon, whole through the union of father and daughter, in a way that made him even more powerful than his father. He was curious, having felt the emotions of his mother, and had come to see her. He couldn't see her at first and it distressed him, his one turquoise eye shining brighter than the violet one in the darkness.

"Mama?" He could feel her crying and he didn't really like it very much. He heard his father, or was it his grandfather? The child wasn't sure what to call Vylrath as he walked past his grandmother and clambered up on a chest at the foot of the bed. He saw his mother with her face buried in a pillow, her shoulders heaving in great distress. With his tiny hands on his tiny hips, Trydian turned and looked at Vylrath. He hadn't been in the room for the old man's speech, so he spoke from his own perspective.

"You are a bad man. You hurt Mother." With all the justification of an innocent child Trydian waved a finger at Vylrath, just as Caela had done to him when he'd been naughty. "Why do you do such mean things to her? She is a good person. She is not as hateful as you!" This child spoke with the vindication of someone that had lived far longer than the two years he seemed to be.

Trydian crawled up on the bed, his silver hair spiked from having been asleep until feeling the great distress of his mother, and shook Caela with his tiny hand. He cuddled into her chest like a small animal and peered out through the gap in her arm at his father. The shadows couldn't hide Vylrath from Trydian. Trydian was a creature that belonged in those shadows, but his upbringing by Caela had been good and he was always punished for his naughty behavior. He was a good demon, if ever the term could be applied. In a fit of childish behavior, Trydian stuck his tongue out at his father and nuzzled close to his mother.

-----

Caela was stunned at first, hardly able to comprehend the things that Vylrath was saying to her. He had taken so much from her that she could hardly forgive him for a few words spoken in the heat of emotion. It was the emotion, though, that caught her attention. With Trydian in her arms, Caela sat up in her bed and looked at her father. Obscured as he was by shadow she could only just make him out.

"The scars on my back will never fade, no matter how I grow or mature. I am not sorry for my son, and I never will be. He and his sister are the reason I am alive at all. They are the reason I have survived the events that have shaped who I am." Caela tried in vain to fix the spiked hair of her son, flipped up at the front as if all the cows on the island had come to have a taste of his silvery hair. Caela smiled as she kissed his forehead, proud of his concern and standing up to his father.

"I may have your skin, your heritage, but that doesn't mean I have to fall into killing and turning everything that gets in my way. I admit, your turning of my Mother sent me over the edge, but you did kill Baleron today. One more straw on an already broken woman's back -- can you blame me?" Caela's violet eyes were bright and wet from crying, and she looked incredibly beautiful in a way that most women did not in their grief. She was the daughter of Vylrath and Isabella, how could she not be anything but breathtaking and resilient?

-------

Isabella kept quiet at first as she let Vylrath speak of his crimes against her daughter. It was the crying that undid her. Tears slipped down her heartbreakingly beautiful face as she watched her daughter mourn the loss of the woman she had come to know. Isabella didn't feel different, other than the power and desire coursing through her veins. When her grandson piped up, Isabella hid her smile behind her hands -- but she knew that Vylrath would feel her amusement.

They are amazing.

Vylrath would feel the phrase at first before it materialized in his mind. Isabella was smiling at her grandson and her daughter's love of him -- even if he did come from otherwise unloving circumstances. As Vylrath broke down, Isabella could no longer be intensely angry at him. He would feel this, feel her acceptance of things she could not change no matter how hard she wanted to.

"Emotions are very hard to control, Vylrath. Humans have so many of them roiling inside their bodies that it is a wonder that they don't explode. So long as you do not harm our child and her children any more I will not strike you down where you stand." Isabella spoke as if she knew she could snuff out Vylrath's life if she gave any thought to it. In fact, she probably could do it by thought and end them both before they had begun. It would probably do the world a whole lot of good if she did, but she was selfish at that moment and wanted nothing more than her daughter and grandchildren. She had missed out on so much while being with Death!

Isabella crawled into bed with Caela and Trydian and held them both close to her. Her skin was cooler but it was not an unpleasant feeling. She smelled absolutely divine and felt as soft as silk. Being the mother she never could to Caela obviously meant the world to the newly transformed woman. Isabella glanced up from Trydian to Vylrath -- the resemblance was there and always would be. There would be only one emotion, overriding all others that Vylrath might feel at that moment.

Acceptance.

[Vylrath]

Creators could never make their own happy- no matter what they revealed in their own form. Vylrath learned this the hard way when his daughter retreated from him. She had always retreated from him, even when he had been absent; he never felt the desire to seek her out.

He listened to Isabella’s words (even the silent) and looked at her with an accepting glance. “If I were my old self, I would have killed you and the children. I have not and I don’t plan to in the future-I wanted to rebuild something we had lost…something that I had destroyed.” He smiled at Trydian, but to a child, it would look like a snarl, with his obvious “fangs,”- they possessed a silhouette from the fire.

“I never thought I would see an innocent soul. You have the spirit of a warrior! But I don’t think your mother would forgive me, if I trained you to handle a bloody future.” He knelt down by Trydian, trying to make the boy feel less threatened. “Yes…I am a bad man. I am a demon…those scary monsters your mother warns you about! You are one of them.” Vylrath didn’t let the boy know how he was related to him. He didn’t want to see another one tortured. “I suppose you’re wondering who I am? I…used to work for your grandma.” He spoke of the days when he used to play as her “King” and bodyguard to fend off the motives of Lords. Vylrath smirked at his own response.

He stood up and ruffled the boy’s hair in a playful response to his behavior. “Demons can change, but man will always be the same.” The sentence almost didn’t make sense, except to him. He had seen how greedy man could be. Vylrath spoke of the war that had corrupted his family and turned him into a murdering demon.

His body straightened, as if seeing something in the distance that they could not see. “I do not feel it…the thirst or desire for blood. What are we then?” He was speaking to himself at that moment, but they would hear his confused voice.
He looked into the tortured eyes of Caela and couldn’t speak for a moment. Would she hate him for something he couldn’t remember?

“You will never believe me, but I don’t remember killing your friend. I assume that is where this new power came from? I remember having a bloodied shirt, but not knowing where the blood had come from. I almost thought it had come from you.” He stopped himself from speaking and looked at her in horror: there were claw and bite marks all over her body. “I….” Vylrath sat down to catch himself.

He turned to Isabella. “You should end me, but I would not want to see you die because of who I was.” He held his head in his hands to cradle the relentless thoughts that continued to plague him. “I want us to be whole again. Damn humans for their troublesome emotions! I don’t know how they can even take a piss without feeling guilty…”