Night #4, of Elena’s stay with Claire at Fort Maria…

Eris is true to her word, and I’ve what I need for what’s to come. I’ve got shackles, wine, and mortal blood – the full package for a newborn Vampire, to help ease the shock of her reawakening into the world of Melodia.

The blood, gathered from the mortal devatas of Fort Maria, rests in a single, crystalline vial. With the bottles of vintage, I intend to concoct a replica of a tried-and-true cocktail recipe from the sunless deserts of the Dread Expanse. It’s a little something that I’ve come across in the library, from an excerpt in a book that’s titled (rather on the nose, admittedly) ‘Vampires of the Dread Expanse’, that records the Arcane University’s observations on the Blood Curse and its effects on the aristocracy of Oasis, the City of Dreams. And it also mentions, as a footnote, that this cocktail is the Caliph’s favoured means of blood consumption.

Yes, the Caliph of Oasis is a Vampire. She’s not just any lesser bloodsucker, mind you, but a Vampire Lord – an ancient fiend at the top of Amon’s dark hierarchy, like myself. And so are the nine Viziers in her service, her so-called ‘Nine Kings of the Dread Expanse’. They’re each on the level of a Master Vampire, or so I’ve heard – administrators and merchant lords, rather than guardians trained for combat and murder.

Oh, all but one of them, actually. One of the Nine Kings, or so I’ve heard, is Hellbourne. She’s a Sand Wraith – a variant of Hellbourne that’s said by the Akashic Records to be an infinite number of warriors, in one. And I’ve also heard, that she’s one hell of a whirling dervish with a scimitar. Or with anything sharp, for that matter.

In truth, I’ve yet to meet the Caliph in person. Her name, if I’m not mistaken, is Lucid II. And I know, at least from rumours and writing on the topic of vampirism and the Blood Curse, that she’s one of the few who’ve overcome her primal urges. And I wonder… how? I don’t think that’s solely from taking up a hobby in fine dining and wine-tasting, y’know? And perhaps… Claire might learn a thing or two from her, if I could get them to meet… somehow.

Well, whatever. For now, one thing at a time. Otherwise, I’d freak out from the stress. And besides, Claire’s still… dead. And I’m still here, waiting.

Oh, and Eris is here as well. Now, we’re just sitting around, wine glasses in hand while Ser Kuarloc stands guard outside. And Eris, she’s yet to leave this room and my general vicinity, ever since yesterday when she left with Ser Kuarloc (she insists that I address her Dullahan guardian as such), to ‘make the necessary arrangements’.

Why? I’d ask her directly, but it’d be rude. And I suppose that she has her reasons for wanting to keep an eye on me, especially in light of what will happen, soon enough. And I’ll admit this, that I do feel better with a sister elf nearby. Even if, honestly speaking, the only thing Eris and I have in common is that we each have a pair of pointy and knife-shaped ears.

Or not, actually. Oh, and speaking of which…

“You keep looking at my ears,” Eris remarks, breaking the silence between us. “I’ve noticed this from you so many times, in our interactions thus far.”

“I wasn’t being very subtle about it, I’ll admit,” I answer, as I look Eris in the eye. “I mean, you’re a sister elf… not in that blood-related way, but… y’know what I mean, right?”

It’s dark, but I can see a smile form upon Eris’s lips. Actually, upon closer inspection, it’s more of a grimace. And I can’t help but take a sip of wine as I watch her, and it’s a long, deep devouring that drains my glass completely of its rich vintage.

“Bad choice of words, maybe,” I add, smiling nervously as I do. “But if you don’t mind me asking, why did they end up like that? Your ears, I mean.”

“It’s an injury from the past,” Eris states, as she returns my smile. “When I was still mortal, a flesh wound from my life before my body became Lightsworn.”

“Flesh wound, you say?”

“Yes. Why?”

“It looks like something that can be easily fixed, no?” I ask in turn, as I think of the Pig-men that live on the Isle of Eden with their Archon, Alicia l’ Auteur the Eternal Alchemist, and the flesh-shaping magics of the Blood Shamans in the Wretched Horde. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Alicia and Iris aren’t exactly the best of friends, but…”

“You speak madness, de L’Enfer,” Eris remarks, with a wry grin of her own. “I suspect I know what you’re talking about, and I also know that this suggestion of yours…”

“Hey now, I’ll go with whatever works. And I wouldn’t knock it without trying it, y’know?”

“I can see this philosophy within all that is you, for better or worse.”

“I’m not sure how to respond to that,” I say, though I suspect I know better. “And I’ll take it as a compliment, and leave it at that.”

“As you should, de L’Enfer. We’re sister elves, aren’t we?”

“I’d like to think so, yeah. But seriously, though? That look you had in your eyes when I asked about your ears, tells me that there’s more to it than a mere wound, no?”

“I suppose…” Eris says in reply, her words drifting away into the darkness as her smile turns into a grimace. “It’s my turn to be unsubtle, it seems.”

“Well… I’d like to hear about it, if you don’t mind,” I ask her, once more. “Just curious, is all.”

“I see. Alas, I…”

Now, there’s a notable, palpable pause from Eris. From the grim look I can spot in those yellow eyes of hers, I expect her to empty her glass as I did, because that’s what people do whenever they’re about to talk at length about any topic under the sun. However, she doesn’t do that, choosing instead to set her glass at arm’s length.

“Not gonna drink that?” I ask. “It helps with the talking, y’know?”

“Drinking is all well and good, but it won’t change the past.”

Heh. Honestly, though? I can’t help but grimace in the face of such words, especially when I think about my own life and past, and… whatever it is that I’m having right now.

“Well then,” I tell her. “I’m all… nevermind.”

“When I was a teenager and still an acolyte in the Ancient Cathedral, I had what you’d call a problem with my skin,” Eris answers me, her words both soft and solemn. “Acne, and rashes. It made me… ugly, and my peers shunned me for it. They made no pretences, that I was… unwelcome.”

While Eris speaks of her past, I look at her and remain silent. The details that she lets loose are vague at best, and yet, there’s a sorrow in her yellow eyes, the wistful sort that looks like it’s gazing deep into a cruel mirror. Of the past, of what once was and will always be, forever.

“It feels so insignificant, now that I think back on it. And yet, back then and there, their words meant the world to me. I lived for their approval. And when I didn’t get it, I hated myself. Hated myself, so much…”

Once more, there’s another notable and rather palpable pause. And I watch, quietly as before, while she reaches for the wine that she had set aside, only to end up refusing its dark temptation when her fingers touch the surface of the glass.

“It was only my ears, that remained free of this… ugliness. And one day… I snapped. It makes no sense at all, in retrospect, but I… cut them away with a pair of scissors.”

“You… what, now?”

“Two cuts, just like that,” Eris adds, while her hands reach slowly for her blue hair, and at what remains of her elvish ears. “I wanted to bleed out, and die. And I would have… were it not for the Ecclesiarch.”

“Iris can be a real darling sometimes, y’know?”

“Lady Iris? No,” Eris answers me, as her eyes look off to the side. “It was Lady Lyra, who found me bleeding upon the floor. After my wounds were dressed and healed, she wouldn’t let me leave her side.”

There’s yet another pause. First, there’s the slightest hint of a grimace upon Eris’s face. And then, even in the candlelit darkness, what I can discern so clearly as a wistful smile while tears glisten in her eyes.

“She taught me… to love myself. To be good to myself, no matter what. I’ve aged since then, and my skin has become… normal. And I’ve stayed true to her words, even after becoming a Vizier, and even after her passing. This, de L’Enfer, is why I keep my ears this way. I want to remember and lock this moment of my life in my heart, eternally…”

“It’s a good reason,” I say, as I smile at Eris. “For sure.”

“It is what it is, sister.”

“That said, if you’re talking about Lyra de Escaflora, the first Ecclesiarch of the Central Church, isn’t that like… an era of half a century ago?”

When Eris nods, I can’t help but furrow my brow as I cross my arms.

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Is that an important question?”

“Not really, but if we’re sister elves, we’ll have to use something to properly decide the pecking order, right? Y’know, who’s the big sister, between us both.”

“I’m fifty-three years old, de L’Enfer,” Eris states, with a rather thoughtful nod. “I’m old, and I suspect that soon enough, I’ll have someone chosen from the ranks of the Lightsworn Guard to succeed me and my duties. But, what about you?”

“Fifty-what, now? You barely look like you’re…”

“I’ve stopped aging, for a very long time. Also, it’s your turn to answer.”

“Right…” I state, as I look Eris in the eye. “In truth, I’ve lost count… but I’m three hundred and twenty-eight years old, I think?”

My answer doesn’t surprise her for some reason, it seems. Maybe it’s the vibe I give to others well-attuned to magic and sorcery, or… I dunno. I suppose, when I think of myself and all the enigmatic and esoteric beings I’ve encountered over the years and centuries as friends or foes, looks can be rather… deceiving.

“Y’know how it is… I’m a Lich. The ancient evil… survives. That aside, though, this makes me the big sister in this makeshift relationship of ours!”

“Indeed. And I’m honoured to be the little sister,” Eris tells me, with a rather cheeky smile that’s completely unlike anything that I know of her. “And I have to say, big sister, that you’re not as bad or as brutish as you look. By the standards of a thug, at least.”

“And you, little sister, you’re, uh…” I state, tripping over my words as I scramble for something witty to say. “You’re short.”