EXT to INT - Esher’s house, basement; day
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: The sun shone down on the House of Esher, its softly morose color no longer ensconced in the creeping Fog that had gripped the isle for months. With that arcane threat gone a patina of peace hung over the accursed widow’s household, kept as quiet and cool as possible under the circumstances broiling within.
During a moment when none of her housemates were within immediate reach, Llywellynn sank further into the fire without warning. If no other allies presented themselves on the stoop or busted down the door quick enough, the feverish widow would have no distractions from blindly seeking relief in the coldest part of the house. Everything became suddenly too stifling, too much to endure. Burning swaying dazed with fever, Llyw followed where the chill in the air had settled at the lowest point, into the basement.
A tectonic struggle was underway, her humanity cracking deeper under the weight of too many forces for one beleaguered soul to bear for much longer. Time was a ceaseless riptide wearing away at the foundations of her existence far faster than was allotted most mortal kind. The demands of her power, the inner fire burning through her, the Curse relentlessly eating away at anything that slipped beyond her guard, all the worlds she Saw pressing against her senses like a gale….
All of it was crashing in at once upon her, testing her stoic willpower to the utmost and she could no longer think beyond this battle, collapsing at last.
Dorian Windgrace arrived on the doorstop, and after knocking then receiving no answer, he called out to the nearest window, "Hello there! Anyone about?" He subsequently peered in and would spy upon the interior for further information about whether he simply had poor timing for a visit. Closing his eyes, he'd listen deeply for sounds of movement in the house. Having found the doppelganger once and gotten away, without finding it's trail again, his visit was somewhat overdue.
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: For the moment, the timing was poor enough that noone was available to respond to the Windgrace who had coming calling unplanned. In fact anyone who went looking for the Lady Esher now would only need to follow the trail of clothing she could no longer stand to wear, the covers from her bed dragged and abandoned across the floor, leading down the stairs and across the foyer to the door under the stairs hanging slightly open…
Faint scorch marks were left upon banisters and walls and doorframe, wherever her hands had lingered on anything too long in search of support to quell the dizzy spin of the world. She had clung to the only sources of cold she had at hand, dragging them with her to end up in the windowless suite below, by all appearances...
Dorian didn't want to force the door, he'd done that before and though he'd sent along workmen to repair it, avoiding unseemly behavior was his plan. So, upon hearing nothing, and spying the marks of some disarray, he'd mutter under his breath, "Oh bloody hell."
Rather than going in through the door, he'd chance at a window pulling up at it once and firmly to find it gave. As he did this he faded into a shadowy shape, having chosen the dim side of the house for his ingress. He'd shed the shadows and close the window behind himself, calling again once securely inside, "Hello there! I am sorry to let myself in, but I just wanted to make certain all was well!" Having seen what he'd seen of her deteriorating state over the time he'd know her, he'd follow the trail to its end, listening as he made his way, tiptoeing toward the door that lead below.
"Llyw!" He'd whisper-call to her as he made his way on down the stairs. If he found someone else, or something amiss he wasn't too worried about making a good accounting for himself. There would be a chance to apologize for his breaking and entering later. One fist clutched a handful of flowers he'd brought, the other loosely clenched and unclenched in anticipation.
Esher house still didn't have any wards to speak of guarding any point of ingress or egress rather regrettably. It was a miracle some monster hadn't just rampaged through the place already from the lure of a stray breeze. A rare moment when the rest of the household was not on the immediate premises to come upon an uninvited guest letting himself in. Odds were good however that either the student or the counselor or the houseguest would reappear and go investigate soon enough.
In any case if Dorian hadn't yet been given a tour of the whole house he would have soon discovered the back door was merely a flimsy screened thing leading to the kitchen for any future trespassing needs. Currently his quiet callings got no reply, nothing coherent...just a faint trace of a melody he had heard before from the widow, especially when deep in her cups or contemplating her fate. The soft notes floated up from the basement door hanging ajar, the scent of burnt wood lingering on a few delicate fingerprints there.
A few steps led down into a pair of well appointed rooms below, the cool air typical of the house growing notably pronounced where the cold had settled. The thread of the Lady's sweetness was fresh on the air however, easily pointing the way to where she was. There Llyw would be found and unavoidably seen, appearing so pale even across from the other open room, curled on the floor in the cold black nest of her bespelled icy comforter, clutching a similarly chilled bat plushie to the glowering source of heat between her breasts.
Llyw’s flushed surfaces were wrapped in a gossamer white lace shawl, visibly imbued with some sort of ice to glitter like frost, barely hiding any of her slim figure under its sparkling translucency. The low light shone through the fabric draped almost sheer upon the modest curves of her breast and hip where she lay on her side insensible, face turned away towards a hearth far more dormant than her own flesh. Rubies peeked through the weave almost melting upon her, the raging heat from her body meeting the magicked cold to steam upwards in curling waves laden with her embersweet honeysuckle fragrance.
Delirious, Llyw shivered in the well of this ice and fire shimmering and dewing into condensation around her, wreathed in strands of her hair of moonruby dipped in shadow, humming that morbid southern lullaby of hers between quiet gasps to self soothe somehow, appearing unable to hear anything else nor Dorian's whispers as of yet…
Dorian went silent upon picking up the quiet and broken melody. Following it to be within view of her, the moment he set eyes on her upon the floor, he'd dash to where she lay and after skittering to a stop, kneel at her side. He wasn't sure what to say at first, so, dropping the flowers at his side, he just looked her over, trying to understand what he was seeing. The ice and fire of it all was confusing to make heads or tails of, but distress was plain. The first words to escape his lips were a quiet muttering, "Oh Gods."
He'd reach for her hand but finding it very hot to the touch, he instead used her comforter and would attempt to put it between his hand and hers as he cooed quietly, "Llywellynn, Llyw?" His expression was tightened with concern, starting at the knot between his brows and all across his face from there, his body coiled taut for want of action to remedy what has gone awry.
The bonfire overtaking Llyw's bones lit all the pathways of her senses, of her Sight, of her powers barely under control in the sea of pain. If the gallant one was not exceedingly careful that first fiery touch might be enough to press at his defenses blindly. His patrons might grant some resistance to such fire ironically enough, though perhaps such a test might be too risky to attempt upon this particular conflagration.
Perhaps a near miss as the widow's self control was so precarious, straining too much to keep the torrent of her suffering from spilling out to scorch everything, figuratively and perhaps literally. Otherwise Dorian might yet find himself falling into the seer's wretched austere inner mindscape again soon enough, where shambling nightmares howled for freedom much like the lucky one roaming free...
The undying flame of the younger scion however was sensed through the pounding waves of fever, dying the notes on her lips, ruffling her awareness up out of the fire to try to focus on her surroundings. Seeking out the scintillating figure looming vaguely above her in a radiance bending through prisms of time, reflecting so many eyes of deathless splendour....Only Dorian had such an aura, one she had tasted in fact and burned from for the brief surge of strength she had gained from his well meaning aid. Gasping, Llyw's mouth opened to emit yet more steam than her skin, inner heat meeting the frosty aura of her impromptu magic nest, her eyes slowly opening flaming embercores upon her visitor.
"D...Dori..ann?..." She murmured breathless, shuddering from her clearly deteriorated state, caught between bitter cold and raging heat in a painful teetering balance, but the note of distress in her voice was easily heard. She tried to reach out one wavering hand towards her friend, fingertips blackened to soot tipped in talons, unthinking of the lines of embers flowing bright through her limbs. The clumsy wrappings were gone, showing how deeply etched with fire her arms were now.
Her name barely registered, blinking up at him, shaking with all the desperation of someone stranded in the desert in want of lifesaving water. The desert just happened to be inside her however, the blazing sun of it pulsing hot light through her ribcage in a strange tandem heartbeat harsh as a forge. Her fragrance was a truly potent force filled with the essence of cinders and dark floral nectar even now.
"F..fire..t.too much...fire..C..colder...here....in...L..Lucass'...room..." The widow was rambling the most basic concepts, unable to articulate any better between heaving bids for air that didn't burn in her lungs. But Llyw kept mumbling in a struggling whisper, answering a terrible truth unasked most pertinent to this moment, "H..he...b..burned..when he...changed....I'm...j..just...sslower...at it..."
Hard to tell if she was trying to make the understatement of the century in true British fashion or she was just stating the horrible cruel underbelly to her strange and agonizing situation...
Dorian was with her for a moment when they touched in that hellscape she inhabited and endured. Blinking it away with a grimace, he resolved to pull her from it too, presuming as he did that it was part of what was immolating her. Thus, shaking it off, with his concern yet ruling his face, he answered her in a gentle version of his voice, trying to coax her into consciousness, "That's right Llyw, it's me. Who is Lucas? Stay with me, come on, you can do it. What do you mean changed?" He usually did not ask so many questions, but engaging her mind was more pressing even than his curiosity.
As her hand reached out for him, he gave his ring-bedecked own over to clasp together with hers. His eyes flared a brighter yellow, flickering like flame when their palms met.
Once he had her hand he was immediately peering over her to see if he might next rouse her from her laying position up and toward standing. He'd test this by seeing how firmly she could hold onto that hand.
Before Llyw's hand fell back out of utter exhaustion Dorian caught it up on his palm, his Eldritch gifts meeting the ancient inferno raging under her skin. Her hand was small and black as coal engulfed in his, the touch burning nearly hot as a live flame flaring to the hammering of her life's anvil. The man's resilience would be under immediate challenge from the furnace she pressed to his skin as she clung as tight as she could manage, the metal of his rings in risk of growing quickly overheated as well. Her eyes roamed until she found his at last to lock on, her pupils expanding crimson hued flame flickering akin to his more golden glow, some strange dance of fires so different in origin finding an interface perhaps to an unknown outcome.
All Llyw knew however was her dear friend was here, trying to take her by the hand and urge her upright. Thankfully his mind didn't remain more than a blink upon the blasted shores of hers, fortifying his resolve against the Psychic's poorly regulated inner expressions while she burned too hot to think clearly at all. The threat of lavafields might overtaken her every thought, her struggle such a constant one she could barely focus at all beyond the volcanic roar of it within. No matter how helpless the widow seemed in her bizarre malady, the risk of her near infernal temperature was an ongoing one.. as well as what she might do to survive this apparent fate.
A valiant effort was made, testament to the stubborn will that drove her, shuddering as she tried to regain her feet, though truly all she succeeded in doing was possibly keeling weak-kneed against Dorian in some fashion. Unless he was smart enough to dodge and avoid getting his clothes and possibly himself scorched all to hell. The fuzzy bat slipped from her chest, fell from her fingers as she sought a deathgrip in the black fabric on the floor to bring its thin ice shield with her in any case.
"B..Bouchet....S...so ...p..parched....> Responding to the gentle inquiry, her soft voice was a broken whisper delirious, no match against the terrible sun burning her from the inside out. It might be clear enough now Dorian had a moment to look his friend over that the seer possessed stubbornly resilient flesh despite this agonizingly slow cataclysm overtaking her. Llyw tried to explain, every thought edged in fire she couldn't mitigate enough, burning up all her reserves to keep so much of what afflicted her at bay enough to even focus on him and his highly unwise idea to touch her, to come within arm's reach of her.
The seething heatfield living in her flesh steamed against the icy magic wrapped around her, causing condensation to form and drip from her surfaces and then evaporate from the intense heat in a continuous unstoppable process, the phenomena licking upon Dorian where he might be in Llyw's personal space now. The steam she produced was fragrantly laden with her scent, the honeysuckle maddening promise of nirvana sweetening every breath of air taken now if the Eldritch one had any predatory urges at all, otherwise an exceedingly ember-edged pleasing sauna experience perhaps.
"T..the...C..curse...stops..everything..." Llyw kept trying to talk, though it cost her, every word wavering on the heatwaves, clarifying the torturous circumstances she found herself in to the man trying to help her, "M..my...healing...rejuven...ation....keeps...s..stasiss...H...have to...break...the C..curse....T..trapped...like this...Cann..n't ..c..change.."
An explanation that likely just made everything he knew much more complicated rather than clarified, but it might be too much to hope she would make much sense right now, half naked and drenched in war between fire and ice and reeling in her desperation to prevail somehow. Her small fangs peeked out as she gulped for more air, that nascent impulse for what flowed in him pinging upon her control yet again.
Thankfully she was too weak to coordinate herself enough to do anything but slump against Dorian's grip. Part of her current weakness, a great deal of her mental reserves expended to keep everything she perceived blocked out, at least for awhile. No visual of the Curse hissing around her in that mind's glimpse, nor the wails of the dead or whispers of the world to bedevil her. Just the enormity of the blaze eating away at her, burning every iota of her willpower to deal with the harsher new level of strength in this slow agony of immolation, adding to her pitched battle to be here at all.
Llyw was clearly running out of time, one way or the other...
Dorian didn't let himself think too much. He just hoped and wished that he'd have the fortitude to be of assistance. Recent experience had him a little more on his toes and assertive about taking action, under threat. As her grasp on his hand should have sizzled, the aether woven within him from eldritch magic flared, a small return on saying a silent prayer to the terrible gods to whom his family owed allegiance. The feel of burning didn't relent though the destruction of flesh was halted, but he grit his teeth against it. Pain was proof of life.
As she stood, dressed as she was, he spared a thought for her modesty and brought up the comforter that he'd pulled her from to wrap around her. He'd endeavor to do this, and to hold her in a firm embrace inside it, from one side, once it was done. Not to restrain her, but to support her form with the fragrant waves of heat and condensation ever rising from it.
Once she was on her feet, he'd answer with words of encouragement again, "I don't understand, but...look... at me." He bent to level his xanthic gaze on her eyes, "You are back now. Stay with me. You can do it. Can't you?" While he was considering if she'd improved after biting him before, and his sister's rage upon learning of it, he would hold off on offering, instead explaining, "I don't know how to break your curse, I wish I did. You don't deserve to suffer like this. What- what can I do?"
Llywellynn was but a candle flame, tiny and fierce, being swallowed whole into an ancient inferno. Mote by mote, minute by minute, every grain of her mortality’s sand falling in a slow drift one by one into pure magma, into oblivion’s furnace, into a destruction unlike the worse fate of the Curse somehow.
With but a touch her suffering was Dorian's, all the pain of fire consuming every nerve and yet finding no release from it, containing such essence to provide a continuous source of fuel and thus endless torment. Perhaps more than just his own gods were cruel ones. But luckily for the Windgrace, the bewitched duvet would serve well enough as a shield, cutting off the majority of that searing agony from his own senses at least.
If the widow had any of her wits about her, she would have been far too mortified to have let herself be so exposed and vulnerable. Dorian's inspection might inform his eyes she was not a woman in any conventional sense with only scraps of lace and silk to cover any secrets left to her keeping now. But the pain was too great for any such lesser considerations of modesty or privacy, only survival taking priority. Only anything that might quell these flames mattered in this moment, lolling weakly in the steaming clasp of dark fabric draped around her, leaning her birdlike weight upon Dorian's support underneath it to rest on his side.
Eyes so besieged wandered before heeding Dorian's encouragements, bringing her blighted deeplit irises to meet his silvered gold rings of eternity. His earnest concern, his deep desire to help her, this was the lifeline her consciousness clung to, staring up at him. His requests filtered slowly into her scattered concentration, petite chest heaving for more air over the pulsating glower trapped in her ribcage, forcing out more words growing ragged from the heat, "The...n..name...I..ne..eed..that...b..bastardd's...f..full...name....to break...t..the ssspell.."
She spit the mention of the caster out with such searing venom, crystallization of the hate she bore for the hidden enemy who had been gnawing at her soul for ten years of her life. Ten long years of desperate pitched defiance of death on its very doorstep. Dorian's strength was the only thing keeping her on her feet now, her eyes fluttering shut as she grimaced delicately, showing her tiny fangs between lips laced with fire's sheen, left with only raw honesty of her needs to whisper exhausted, "..and...p..power...I ...need...power... to f..fight..it....I..I'm...so...tirredd..."
Dorian hissed in a breath after making contact with her skin once more. But at length he got the duvet in place and cradled her close. He was patient, and quiet, listening as she explained. He took the time to slip off the rings from his right hand and leave them in his pocket, as well as his bracelet. They were just cooling down from having clasped her hand. He'd then lift her with ease, and carry her to the nearby chaise, where he'd settle her wrapped up self on the edge and sit down beside her. After that brief moment of motion, once he had an arm around her to support her sitting, he'd suggest, "Alright. Alright, we're going to try something. Just relax. And be with me."
In a flash of inspiration he considered something he might do, something he might later attribute to his brother. He'd roll up his sleeve first, past his forearm and up to his bicep, necessitating cuffing up the buttons and a little finagling. Then he'd lean his head against hers, and project a memory. A time when he was the coldest he'd ever been. In the arctic, on a journey for the royal navy. He was bundled up in several layers of hats and clothes and all but he'd seen something there in that desolate place that was strikingly lovely enough to be burned into his memory, even some centuries on. The sun was low to the horizon, and off to either side, due to the refraction of ice crystals in the atmosphere, appeared glowing echoes of its radiance. The sun dominated the view, as the rest was ice and snow stretching off into the distance below where the star hung. The lowest part of the sky was pale orange in a band with the sun and grew pale unto no colour until it began blue-ing up unto the deep dark blue that preceded nightfall.
He'd share the memory of that stark and frigid beauty, and standing beside her there, ask with his internal voice, speaking directly to her mind, "<You bit me once. Did that give you strength? Would it?>"
Llyw was unresisting to whatever Dorian wanted to do at this point, nodding wordless to his suggestions, letting herself be carried to the divan. She was set there upon the steady brace of his arm, blinking up at him, her frame seeming even smaller swathed in the puffy dark comforter to keep a barrier of bespelled ice between them to barely contain her fire's fury. She managed to focus her gaze upon his fully now, eerie eyes sharpening enough to see her friend's goldlit face clearly as he chose to lean his forehead to hers to share a spot of heat again, bringing himself into her nimbus of honeycinder steam to gild his senses perhaps.
The younger brother's will proved formidable enough to counter the hellish interior of Llyw's mind this time, on guard against the harsh forces that tormented her there. Dorian offered the crystal clear memory against her benighted shore instead, a brilliance icecold and awe-inspiring, sparkling with pristine winter's coat over a majestic vista of rich infinite skies in too many hues of air to count.
But the sun, oh the sun was a jewel of light she had never witnessed before, refracted through a thousand crystals of airborne ice on artic winds. Sunlight filling her Sight so parched by death's lightless realms, its heat harnessed by the frigid blast of an Elderkin's potent recollection mind to mind. The touch of this golden one giving her the gift of sunshine yet again, paired with the soothing kiss of frost. Llyw's gaze opened wide fixed on this inner vision, tears welling to spill down her cheeks, steaming into gems to fall into his lap.
Through the touching of minds Dorian might finally gain some insight that Llyw was hedonistic in almost the purest sense borne out her life's desperately horrible straits, perhaps only still needing just a little encouragement to get over her innate shyness and uncertainties. She had a ferocious drive to experience everything in life she had been denied, no matter what it might be, of pleasure or pain or anything else between. The widow found beauty and solace in the strangest things compared to normal people perhaps and she kept a deathgrip on her determination to be kind and to be grateful for any kindness given and to help in turn any way she could. If only she could overcome what consumed her first...
Kindness especially from those she counted as friends and allies she treasured most, one of the friends she trusted most here and now giving her such a beautiful thoughtful gift she was overwhelmed by it. Gratitude trembled in her smile, glistened from her eyes to Dorian, shivering but in some measure of pure relief from the Psychic snowy influence he poured into her senses, able to think almost clearly again.
She was an exotic moonruby being glimmering like a firelit jewel herself in that snowscape alongside her goldhued friend and she turned to him with eyes containing hectic cores of that sun. <Oh Dorian...Thank you, Thank you....> Her mental voice drawled soft and sweet without fear now, the snow keeping the fire at bay. His request brought a flicker of hunger and guilt to twist through her, still feeling ashamed she had attacked him so unwittingly...
But this...This was an invitation from him, willing to offer this time... She was certain at least of one thing, her need too sharp, his essence already a known effect to her, the vital rush of energy he gave before...<Yes...Yes, I felt strong...For the first time...in my life.> She whispered flushing at last with too many feelings to name, <And none of it...went to the damn Curse...I wanted you to know that...>
Llyw frowned suddenly despite the hope seizing her, <You are sure you felt fine though? I didn't...hurt you?> That fear still lingered, haunting every step towards the predator she was becoming out of pure necessity, but no matter what she didn't want to bring any harm to her friends and loved ones.
Dorian held her hand in the arctic landscape, just as he once more reached to grasp her hand in life. He'd press it once and then let go, in order to lift his forearm between them. He bent so much of his will toward remembering that place and the keen sense of cold being so palpable there as to bend light that his lips moved on the chair even as his inward voice was raised once more, "<I will be fine. I can sleep it off. I want to help you, here.>" He knew without thinking about it that she had teeth as could handle skin, he'd felt them once. It seemed a strange thing, inciting himself to be bit so he'd reach for his boot knife in a motion that required no thought, and open a slice on his forearm, leaving no question. Red blood leapt into bright red beads that would begin to coalesce and then drip if she didn't act quickly. He wasn't even sure if it was blood that she needed, but he'd committed. Along with his words came a feeling, of invitation and concern, borne of his sense of duty and sorrow for what she'd long endured.
The shared arctic vision flickered for a moment as he did this, but he worked at pulling it back into place in the moments after. If she'd never felt strong before, it was the least he could do, and offered willingly as the vista of sunlit splendour. He'd slip his knife back into the ankle of his boot as he waited for her to drink and showed her the perfection of cold and light combined at the uttermost northern point he'd ever ventured to.
Only shyness held Llyw back from being far more forward with what she needed, but she was hesitant as well to lay fang to Dorian's skin like that, blushing furiously even atop what the fire brought to her cheeks. She had been in a feverdaze before, seeking his neck on blind instinct, but now thanks to his long ago memory of a land bound in ice crowned by the sun, she was bracingly wide awake. Trying to bite him like that again felt far too intrusive and intimate and for a second she wasn't sure where to look until he raised his forearm already bared.
The realization hit just how barely clothed she was, only the saving grace of the bulky blanket sparing her further self consciousness. It would seem she needed to get past such hangups, else always be dying of embarrassment at every turn considering how pitched her battles were growing, this only a momentary respite granted by Windgrace generosity. Dorian's assurances didn't quite reassure entirely but she had to take him at his word. She breathed a silent sigh of relief when he drew blade against himself to offer what she needed. She was still coming to terms with this newly coalescing urge that had been growing steadily in her along with the fire's progress, forcing her to seek power somehow to keep going.
Wrapped in icy black fabric and frosty white lace and surrounded by the mental influence of the artic circle, Llyw's fever was quelled as much as it could be without stronger spells cast. Her hand was slightly less searing when Dorian squeezed it gently again, a small gesture of reassurance between friends she returned before he needed to let go again. It was only now she realized he hadn't actually burned like she had feared, likely due to the power that coursed through him in lieu of his long sacrificed mortality.
<Alright. I will believe you. But please...tell me if I hurt you, ok?> She asked soft but insistent, her concern meeting his, gratitude swelling for his unwavering kindness upon the course of her tears flowing freely to give him gifts in return. She was leaning towards his arm in the memoryscape and in the room as well, as carefully as she could, her attention becoming fixated on the spill of crimson vitality leaking from the cut. A thought occurred to her just as her fire-limned lips touched his blood, soft spots of heat upon his skin, trying not let her aching fangs free whilst the northern skies played through her mind.
<C..can I help this way too? I have healing... and rejuvenation, I can give?> Llyw ventured cautious, remarkably offering her own blood even though he was no blooddrinker she knew of... even as the undying flame in his blood came to her in a rush through the vitae's conduit. It wasn't the blood she needed but what was carried in it from each individual to her so simply though still rather imperfectly, some innate talent yet to fully gain mastery...But she gained enough, some measure of the power that fueled Dorian now upon the seer's tongue to take in with a soft heated gasp and flaring ember eyes.
His friend who he was helping to make into a small fierce monster in her own right slowly but surely as she drew vital power from him, her scent a maddening unrelenting influence regardless of whatever else was going on, rising on the steam to coat the air sweet as honey on fire, glistening condensate on her skin glittering with gems.
Dorian had an ally for life for his many instances of kindness, however long Llyw's life might last. Now perhaps for a little longer, thanks to him...
Dorian raised his other hand to push back some of her hair from her brow, in both places at once. He wasn't so versed at projecting. But inhabiting past moments, over and over, that he was fairly expert in. And he had a long list of them in a very long life. So the one loaned strength to the other and he made a small sound of amusement, the nascent tones of a laughter as she offered to help him. He didn't recoil from her, and wouldn't until she seemed capable of cognizance again, or he felt faint, whichever came first. It was an absurd situation enough that the small sound of mirth escaped him again. And he'd follow the immediate hilarity of it with directly speaking his thoughts to her mind again, <"I am the one helping you here. Let me. Save your strength for your fight. When the sun does that they're called sundogs. It only happens where it is terribly cold. I was there with the navy. A long time past, in the 18th century.">
He'd not pause until he felt himself going a little woozy. At that point he spoke with his flesh, "Llyw-" He'd pull away from her gently, taking his arm back to himself. And he'd pull back from her mentally as well, leaving off from the memory at the arctic circle. That done, opening his eyes, with one fell pull, he'd yank his rolled up sleeve off at the shoulder and use his teeth to tie his arm up. He healed quickly, but not immediately. And it would surely be a little slower of a process, drained as he was. That much movement, small as it was, felt just a bit more leaden and distant, and he knew it was surely from what he'd exchanged with her.
The younger scion had certainly dazzled Llyw this time, quite literally, with this amazing panorama his mind’s eye beheld long ago. Every visit of his to the widow had turned out quite memorable of late in some way and especially so this time. No matter what he might be in the regard of others, to Llyw Dorian had always been quite the shining hero in her eyes, even moreso now in this moment. Her Sight always bearing witness to his true essence on display; eyes of silvered gold light, strangely colored prisms of the cosmos lit through with sunshine’s memory gilding his form and wings into greater glory upon halcyon skies. An angel effulgent and dauntless bestowed from his darker horrific gods, offering a taste of his living flame.
With the gallant lordling’s arm supporting the Lady bundled up in a comforter copiously steaming, with only her hands and head sticking out to minimize any damage, the two stood together in this recollection frozen pristine in time. The reality of course was of Esher’s gloomy basement whilst sitting side by side on a divan and the situation could have been quite silly in any other context. The life and death nature of the widow’s predicament made her far too desperate to dwell on the absurdity and impropriety however. She focused instead on the importance and meaning of Dorian’s kind gesture, so willing to lend some of his vital energy to his friend who suffered such a debilitating lack of vigor. His generosity would never be forgotten and surely would be repaid in full in due time.
The seer’s sharp fingertips had found Dorian’s arm, trying to hold him lightly, her mouth upon the wound with care. This new instinct of hers hadn’t grown urgent enough to make her vicious about it, not yet. Each point of contact, minimal as it might be, still burned quite hot yet left no mark on either considering their patrons. She drank as deep as she dared risk caution, realizing with a dawning of inner horror how reluctant she felt in stopping herself, her hands twitching with the effort to let go, dainty fangs yearning to sink in.
Dorian’s fingertips brushing upon her fiery temple brought her back to herself, rescued her from the golden reverie of his essence crossing her tongue. Her hair glinted like strands of pure precious metals in the sun yet felt soft against his caress. She lifted her attention from her efforts as he gently pulled away from her claws, looking up into his glow as he told her of the rare sun he had gifted to her Sight, eerie eyes shining with gratitude, with admiration, welling with happier tears as his blood reddened the corners of her smile.
<Thank you, Dorian, so much…this..is so…beautiful…I..I feel..> Llyw’s mental voice sighed burgeoning over with giddy relief, <..better, stronger…I can finally breathe…>
She was shaking in his hold, not from weakness now but from a surge of vim she could hardly contain, dragging in the chilled steam as if arching up from the sea. Her limbs were not quite under her control, shot through with vitality in a body accustomed to frail limits. Llyw had gotten a far more potent dose this time than the briefer measure before, sending her reeling as the Windgrace’s illusion melted away back to gothic gloom. Dorian’s benefaction carried the Eldritch influence of his patron Gods, an undying fire alien to her own to contend with as the price to pay for his helpfulness. What effects might seep into the widow perhaps only those unfathomable Gods knew.
Gazing up thankful and concerned at the man who had revived her from the pyre, Llywellynn’s eyes took on the argent gold shine of his eyes…