EXT to INT - Esher's Mansion
Dorian had a couple of objectives today. Before going to take Irene out riding, he meant to chase down a bit of a mystery. It would put his mind at ease to find out the widow Esher was still fighting along as she'd been since he'd known her, rather than being the subject of alleged news and rumor. So he was donning his riding gear, with his gloves tucked in his back pocket, and a box of pears under the other arm. Peering at the windows before he even breeched the gate he'd look for signs of life with keen blue eyes attuned by the wary experience of a lifelong soldier. Nimbly climbing the stairs, he'd tap out the rhythm of 'Shave and a Haircut' upon the door, then stand listening for what transpired on the other side.
Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: The Lady Esher's house has endured a great deal of damage upon it in recent months. Vengeful ghosts and uncontrolled power had practically ripped the front of the house down at one point. A testament to the skill of the handymen hired to repair it that there was hardly a sign of any trouble to be found, at least on the first two floors.
Only if Dorian was especially sharp eyed or looked high enough, he might realize that the top floor of the place might have some issues instead. Deep cracks ran along the attic level, suggesting something had transpired there to stress the structural integrity of the building.
The younger Windgrace had impeccable timing to find himself at the stoop of Esher House at the precise moment when there was absolutely no one around to answer the door. Eli off at campus, vampires gone off into the woods or somewhere, Jericho stepped out to deal with his job at the Academy as well. Glancing through the windows yielded no sign as of yet.
Llywellynn should have been in bed where she had been put, but as always she was entirely too stubborn for anything so sensible in her current state.
So when Dorian tapped his style of greeting on the door and bent to listen for any response, all he heard was the faint sound of crying somewhere beyond the threshold.
Dorian listened hard after he knocked, and the sound of someone crying lead him to knock again, with a frown of concern overtaking his expression. This time the knocks were a bit harder and a tuneless, insistent series of raps. He'd set the box of pears upon the rail, and then move off of the stoop to go and peer into the windows nearby. They were a little bit tall for him, so, without compunction nor shame, he'd slip his riding gloves on to heave himself up off of his toes to balance on his hands in the window frame to properly peer inside. Though this made the window sill creak, once he was there, it was effortless for him to maintain the pose, given either his flying ability or his prodigious strength. With his face close enough to glass to almost fog it, it'd be a moment before his eyes adjusted to be able to see inside, and once he did, then he'd be able to decide what to do.
Rapping urgent on the door still didn't rouse the household to let him in. Hoisting up on the front window was of course the next best solution to find out what on earth was going on. Thankfully the repair work was done well enough the front of house was now the most reinforced part of it, allowing for the hardy man to pull himself up and press his face to the panes like a shameless voyeur. Passersby might wonder what he was up to, if any spotted him dangling there.
As for the mystery, his new vantage quickly solved it. Inside upon the rug of the sitting room, Lady Esher's slight figure lay crumpled on the floor. The unnaturally colored sweep of her hair covered most of her back that was facing towards his view. The rest of her appeared clad in thin red silk, though the light seemed uncertain, seeming to almost glow on her outlines. Her true nature was on display with a prominent and perhaps startling curl of dark horns visible on the back of her head. The gleam of rubies on what little bare skin could be seen at this angle, but something was different, something was wrong.
The sounds of soft crying came from her. Apparently alone and in distress enough she didn't even hear her friend knock so insistently. Dorian would likely have to let himself in like a hooligan to reach her side and offer aid. Unless he had by chance been made known of the flimsy screened porch door that lead to the kitchen in the back...
Dorian: || Upon seeing her figure lying there, his instincts drove him past the bounds of decency and lawful behaviour. There were laws and protocols, and then there was what one did when faced with something out of the ordinary. He'd leap back to his booted feet, and then dart once more to the doorway. Once there he put his hand on the door, and all at once in one firm motion, turn the knob past usefulness and intended function. He coughed while he did this as if that would cover the sound of his breaking and entering. From there it would be an easy matter to push his way in, closing the door behind himself. There was very little that walked the world that he truly feared, very much he felt he owed the universe for continuing to take up space, so while he was crossing the span between them, he'd call gently to her, looking around for any sign of some assailant, "Llyw.... Llyw... it is me, Dorian. Are you... you looked like you needed help."
Ultimately he'd intend to land beside her, close enough to place a gloved hand upon her shoulder.
Strongarming his way into Esher's house was easy for one of his strength, though his tactics might be better qualified as comedy. Thankfully no nosy pedestrians sallied by in that exact moment of his attempt to have a fit of the lungs over the sharp sound of metal rending like paper under his hand.
Once letting himself inside, the usual chill to be found in Llyw's house was notably lessened, at least in the near vicinity, almost warm enough to what would be normal temperature in any other domicile of the times. Whatever Dorian might find worth fearing, his gallant instinct brought him right to the widow where she had obviously collapsed, crying in pain. The rest of the house felt quite empty, no sign of any foul play mundane nor magicial, at least to Dorian's senses.
Thankfully he was wearing gloves when he laid hand upon the woman, reaching through a distinct press of heat radiating from her. Heat far past the level of fever poured from Llyw's skin, seeking to soak right into his hand as if he had put palm to hearthstone, but one that was trembling.
Llyw cried, lost in the fever burning her up, burning so much in fact Dorian might see for himself the glowering light peeking through the gaps of loose dark bandages on her arms, red and flickering like true fire. Her tears left a spill of small gems upon the floor as she curled into herself shaking, trying to hold the agony in with her arms wrapped around, nearly steaming from this latest heatwave. The horns looked like cooled lava flows, gems caught in their whorls, glowing from the cauldron within this accursed widow.
She could barely think past what raged through her fibers, but the touch, the familiar voice, someone she trusted enough to call friend, finally brought her back to her wits enough to gasp, "D...Dorian? What....ah, I...y..yes...Please..." She tried to turn her head to look at him but lacked the energy even for that, one hand lifting wavering blindly in search of his support, her delicate fingers showing signs of this terrible fever as well, hints of dark red seeming to glow from the darkness of her flesh.
Llyw was certainly having a fit of her condition in some way currently, with Dorian the calvary coming to help her when she needed it most. Her signature scent was perhaps stronger than he remembered from prior visits now he was leaning over her, wafting up on the rising heat to give honeysuckle sweetness into the air, sweetness edged in fire...
Dorian felt the prodigious heat streaming through the leather on his hands almost like it wasn't there. The moment he did and in the ensuing moments after, looking her over, he'd come to imagine that heat was related to her doing so poorly. He was not shy about any of it though, nor did he seemed too concerned about touching her. For he'd immediately reach to lift her from the floor, scooping an arm around her shoulders to bring her up to a sitting position, supported by his arm. This way he'd facilitate looking into her face, and hearing her ever so quiet murmurings.
He didn't bother trying to hide his worry, but when he was holding her just so, he'd try to meet her eyes to keep her with him. The bravado over wisdom that saw him trespassing was the same that had him making plans to reform the fire brigade. The native impetus toward action was especially pronounced, unto undeniable when the person suffering was someone he cared about.
He'd murmur quietly to her, clear blue eyes fixed upon her own, "I am here, Llyw. Stay with me, alright? You've got to tell me, what has happened to you?"
Llywellynn drowned in a lake of fire. At least that was how it felt boiling under her skin, melting through her bones, the anvil pounded upon in her chest that forged her nature towards slow immolation. The fire eating her alive was not the widow's only problem by any means but currently the pangs of her unnatural fever were taking all the priority over any other suffering of hers. In recent days especially all her fortitude and stubborness of will had been put to the grindstone of endurance. Ever stoic to all she had been made to witness and suffer in her life, but this was a new level of challenge. Every step forward in her journey to free herself from the Curse seemed to bring her upon an ever steeper terrain to climb to her goal.
She was barely holding on by her fingertips to any sense or consciousness in the present moment, the sound of Dorian's voice soft with concern serving as the lifeline to marshall her scattered wits and try to focus on him. Whatever the rest of the world saw of the youngest son of the Windgrace family, the seer always Saw him in his true immortal form, the touch of the uncanny only blunted by the gloves he wore, the radiance of his Eldritch nature drawing her unfocused gaze.
As birdlike as he might remember her weight from previous bridal carrying, she was easily lifted up by him, though there was a subtle difference this time, feeling somehow slightly heavier and more solid though she was just as willowy as before. Llyw lolled against Dorian, unable to muster even the effort needed to stiffen her spine to look at him, her eyes half lidded, the eerie rings of ghost blue, bleached white stark around the centers, centers that burned with unholy crimson lights dazed and delirious.
She shuddered at his question as if on cue, radiating relentless heat in his grasp, hardly able to speak, "I..I can't....can't...ah!" Pain lanced harder through her, yet another wave of it laced with that inner fire, crashing against her willpower like a tsunami. She had been fighting so hard, putting all her determined mental power to the task, tried to halt this transformation in its tracks. But she was too exhausted to keep the effect at bay, the many ranges of rubies that grew from her surfaces gleamed deeper somehow...and grew larger.
With a pained cry, the gems that lived in the widow's form thickened and extruded from her into jagged crystals jutting out of her. Rubies streamed down her face, the source of her pain forming large jewels under his hands. Part of his question was answered now perhaps. The widow was undergoing some sort of alarming change...
Dorian had scooped her up and held onto her, looking her over again once she did not or could not maintain eye contact. As ruby formations seemed to grow while he watched, his brow would remain cinched down in a bunch over his nose while he beheld this. No stranger to things that were beyond the mundane, he'd not need to flee from this. It seemed the best thing he could do in the moment was to keep her company, given the absolute blank he drew on what sort of help to muster for such an occasion, outside of himself.
So he'd hold onto her heated, slender, and increasingly stone beset form, keeping on trying to get through to her, with a note of urgency tinging his tone as he tried again to rouse her back to reality, "Come on Llyw, you're so strong. Remember that, you're a fighter. You've been fighting so long, I bet you don't remember how to do anything else, do you?"
He readjusted his hold on those slender shoulders to keep her propped up so he could continue to monitor her face.
Dorian's encouragements fell through layers of haze over Llyw's perceptions, but the urgent worry in his voice kept her fighting to focus on him. Wracked as she was now, feeling so many earthen elements taking over her flesh she could barely move without more shooting lines of pain where the rubies had expanded outward glowing with heat.
His care holding her steady, his reminders of her stubborn nature, provided more help than he knew for the internal battle endlessly raging in the widow. He was right, this was just another hill to reclaim with her will honed to a blade's edge by her trials. She had so much power, if she could just tame it enough to do her bidding, if she just had the energy to aim it without blasting everything to bits...
Curling forward convulsively she fell against him unless he eased her away, the gems that made up a greater percentage of her body perhaps digging against his muscles. Suffering this way Llyw would not be comfortable to hold close, but she was doggedly determined to keep this unnatural surface from protruding out of her like this a moment longer.
Gathering all the dregs of her energy she could scrape together, Llyw risked calling upon the deep well of power that lay brooding surly within, called up through the inferno transmuting her, a dark force rising up that derived from far more than her own candleflame soul. Instead of envisioning blades formed of ink, she sought to pull the offending crystals down, down into that black sea within, dragging the substance back within where it had sprang from a certain monster's gifts.
Tears flowed faster down her cheeks in the effort, a treasure hoard of sorrow spilling rubies into Dorian's lap as Llyw strived to morph her innate magic to this task, trembling weakly in his arms with her stony outlines hot as a hearth. Like tectonic plates groaning ponderous, all her will pushed and pulled against the ruby earth until at last it gave way. With a great shudder, all the crystals sticking out of her sank away, reverting back to small flat rubies in artful patterns on her flesh with the effort of inexpert metamorphisis somehow against all odds accomplished.
Llyw didn't have any time to marvel at her unexpected success, using her power for something new and terribly necessary, keeping her at least still somewhat human in form. The last of her energy burned up for it, the seer found herself blinking up at Dorian, held in the arms of an Eldritch golden god. Unthinking Llyw fell right into the hunger animating her suddenly, past all regret or self restraint. A desperate need that urged her to open her lips, revealing her dainty fangs and sought to curl around whatever of her friend she could find, seeking the hot pulse of his life to pierce and drink deep...
Dorian watched the fevered fight raging within her, willing her to win it. When the burst of crystalline formations heaved themselves away, he marvelled and a breath he didn't realize he was holding came loose with a bark of laughter. He'd hug her close seeing it, giving her a neck and or shoulder to bite, along with all the side of his face and ear. Having no notion that she intended to bite him, all he was doing was embracing her in warm congratulations, in relief that she seemed to be coming back to herself.
He had a mind to lift her, to take her to seating more suitable, and was only split from this line of thinking by a vague and improbable stimulus that said he was being bitten. He assured himself that was not the case, because Llyw was always so prim and proper, and whatever she was, he was pretty sure it wasn't a vampire. It had to be those ruby-like formations. In which case he'd just hold on, encouraging her in a whisper, "You did it, Llyw. There you are. Thank you for fighting for me."
His hug of a hold on her did not alter as he waited for her to give some further indication that she was faring better.
Laughter and the feel of arms around Llyw filtered vaguely through the blinding urge overtaking her now. Strong arms thrumming with a golden Eldritch power that sirencalled to the feral ache that had seized her so suddenly she hadn't time to stop herself. To remember this was her dear friend Dorian holding her, rooting for her, helping her any way he could. She had always been so grateful for his kindness, his friendly welcome of her to the isle, his charming self to brighten her gloom.
To remember what he truly was; a deathless being shining so strong in eerie splendour, wreathed and winged in Eldritch power from the blessings and many eyes of his gods. A power that had crawled upon her Sight and along her nerves to burrow into her bones every time she laid eyes on him and his siblings and all their eyes had looked into her... If she had any sense left in this moment she would have certainly known better than to sup from that fearsome arcane well.
But Llywellynn was still in the throes of a fate and nature molting towards mystery. She hungered in ways that she had little control over now so depleted and fever-mad. Dorian hugged Llyw close, brought her into the uncanny heat of his embrace to lean her head on his shoulder. Far too easily she found the stalwart column of his throat, opened her soft lips upon the throb of his vein and sank her fangs into his radiance. Her weapons were small but very sharp, catlike on both jaws to make him bleed, her soft tongue containing all her fever to gather up what he spilled unless he pulled her away in time.
If not, Llyw drank from Dorian, delerious with fever and thirst seeking to quench it. Her strange puzzle of a nature exerted its traits, her need very specific with the use of that ink well of power yet again put to service, drawing out from the conduit of his blood a measure of his true essence. It was his power the seer took into herself, the gifts of his gods and all the twisting arcane force that granted him his vigor and immortality. This Llyw pulled into herself, a soft draw Dorian most definitely would feel flowing out as he held the slim jeweled honeyfire feverdream of his friend, her dainty teeth in his neck with no caution whatsoever to the consequences...
Dorian was holding her slim form close, fully intending to impart strength and comfort to her. It took some moments for him to understand past the vague notion that he'd dismissed that she indeed had her lips pressed to him, her tongue on him, was drawing from him. He didn't tense nor try to separate the widow from himself, he just spent a long few moments trying to figure out what to say or do. At length he'd push his inward voice toward her mind, a power he didn't often call upon with anyone but his twin, <It is alright, Llyw. You are going to be alright.>
He didn't feel wobbly nor weak, so he didn't endeavour to pull her away when she had such need. His heart's fulsome throb thudded heavier in his chest and he closed his eyes, measuring his own remaining strength. Finding himself not wanting nor wobbling yet, he'd try not to think about the soft press of warm lips to his throat. He didn't doubt that he could separate her from him if it came to a point of uttermost need, and he knew he healed rather quickly so he continued holding her in a gentle embrace. He'd come rushing in to help, and help he would.
Well-meaning as he was Dorian had opted for kindness rather than wisdom. Llyw was lost in this nascent instinct taking control of her. No thoughts able to rise above the flow of need and the power she drank in to answer the need, to fill her parched reservoir with borrowed Eldritch vigor.
When he didn't push her away, she stayed curled upon her unresisting target, her mouth latched on the wound, swallowing several times in quick greed, taking a sip of his power with each one. Unnatural strength filled her from it, her claws finding purchase on the man she fed from, claws tightening on him. Waves of light and dancing sinuous flames blinded her mind's eye as arcane wierdness slipped into her until at last she grew dizzy.
Her wits finally swam up to the surface of this madness, feeling far stronger than she ever had in her life, but almost as if she couldnt stay contained in her own fire haunted skin, horror creeping through her awareness at last as she realized where she was. Whose blood graced her lips, the power of her dear friend that now broiled through her to make the world seem fraught with time and light refracted at wrong angles.
Llyw gasped and pulled herself away, reeling in mortification flaring deep red across her face, Dorian's blood dripping red down her chin. The pain she had been suffering so acutely however, was washed away by his generosity and the shame she felt now for being so rude and thoughtless.
"O..oh gods...I'm so...sorry.." Llyw whispered, fresh rubies falling from her eyes, eyes that shone golden, confusion and regret thick in her drawl, "D..Dorian...what have I done?"
Dorian was just thinking it was about time to ask her to relent, in the moments between, the strange time when she was held close in a moment of need, drinking from him like he was a font of something useful. But before he could act on the impulse, make any sound of caution, she was scrambling away, with blood on her face. He reached a gloved hand up to his neck where the flow of blood was already slowing as his enhanced healing got to work. He'd help stanch the flow of it with a bit of the collar of his thankfully close enough to red hued shirt, while holding out a hand to her palm out as if beckoning her to stop her hurried scuffle away. Even if he did feel a little bit woozy, he wouldn't show it. He was here to help and what remaining adrenaline coursed through him from breaking in and finding her barely conscious would carry him through, along with eldritch magic, if he had anything to say about it.
He didn't sound alarmed, nor angry at all when he replied, his low voice a hair above a whisper, "No harm done. You were-- you needed the help. It is alright, Llyw. Really, as long as you are. See." He'd stand up to his feet and offer a hand down to her to help her to her own. To his surprise he was steady though there was no mistaking that he felt different. A bit like he'd been on a bender instead of being stone sober. Even so, he was practiced in such circumstances, and was a hale man, whose vigor even now began to ebb forward once more, albeit slowly, to make up for what had been shared.
Dorian's mental voice had penetrated the haze in her own mind and she was now terribly clear headed. Llyw rose to her feet almost as if shot from a cannon, causing her to stagger and clutch to Dorian's offered hand. She wasn't used to having any vim at all and she floundered with the energy she had taken in, overshooting her movements like a newborn colt. Her face flamed utterly embarrassed, for the blood she licked off her lips. The fact she had bit the poor man without any permission, hadn't even realized she was doing so until it was far too late. She was drowning in what glowed so golden from him.
The state she found herself in was so strange and light, full of a heady vitality, an alien ambiance of power that sparkled like stars of gold light in her eyes unknowing. She was blessedly free from pain for the moment however and she dragged in several deep wondering breaths, the thin red silk of her gown rising and falling like a second skin on her modest charms. Her mysterious fragrance was yet more potent now, saturating the room with beguiling woodfire and floral honey notes to distract all but the most ironwilled predators now.
It was now Dorian might realize that much of the light that seemed to play across the widow's surfaces thrummed most bright in her chest, a glowering desert sun shining from within the cage of her ribs, beating the drum of her heart in a strange tandem pulse through her in relentless waves of heat.
The other thing to note as she stood, the Lady was not attired in anything appropriate to receive guests, even for the gallant Windgrace helping her to her feet now. Llwy blushed furiously red to match her rubies but couldn't look away, worry eating her up too much as she looked Dorian over frantically, spying the blood dribbling down his neck to his scarlet collar.
"Are you alright? Did I hurt you?" Llyw gasped, wavering between reaching for him and staying away to avoid hurting him further, "I'm so so sorry, Dorian." Her gratitude was thoroughly tied with shyness, appalled at her own behavior but glad he had been there anyway to help her, "Thank you... Thank you for helping me...I just...I don't understand..." She swayed a little, one hand going to her temple, the other still so small in his grip unless he let go. Her arms were thin and swathed in hasty bandages that couldn't hide the fact her flesh was fissured by lines of lavabright fire.
"I..I've not been...well enough to do anything...even since..." She squeezed her gold limned eyes now, sighing as she tried to make sense of this moment and what she had done, "...The fever got worse, much worse. I've been so weak lately...because of the doll. Once it escaped..." She trailed off, trying to keep her balance, though not due to weakness now thanks to him. But the gift was double edged, leaving Llyw with power so alien to her own disorienting her too much, fighting to regain her bearings. She looked in dire need to sit down, if Dorian chose to guide her to the couch.
Dorian held onto her hand with a firm grasp, unshaken by what had transpired enough to pull a smile onto his face. While she seemed to be getting used to standing on her own two feet again, he offered her something almost customary between them. From his pocket came a handkerchief she could use to clean up her face. Though her hand was warm and bandaged, his was likewise shrouded, and also warm from a preternatural heat. Satisfied that she was indeed the Llyw he knew, he'd continued smiling at her, just a little suggestion to add that everything was fine as he said it was, even as he began to walk with her toward one of her chairs. He was ready to catch her if need be or step away if she indicated she needed space, he'd keep reading her body language for signs. After all he'd seen and done with her this day, the only thing he could manage to stir his tongue to speak was, "Don't worry about it. I ah... I did not realize you were the biting type, but I don't feel the worse for wear."
A moment or two would pass where he studied her with his lips pursed in an unformed question before he managed, "Doll? I had heard that you-- well I had reason to believe you might not be quite well, so I came to investigate. I am quite sorry, but I let myself in rather forcefully. I will have someone over to repair it for you before night falls."
Llyw fell into the chair but more like she didn't know how to control her limbs properly rather than from any fainting spell. She clung to Dorian's support until he chose to let her go, his uncanny presence less harrowing to touch now that some of his essence was unsettling her from the inside now. Everything had a gold nimbus to it until she blinked a few times staring up at him, gleams of gold light taking residence in her gaze though she didn't yet know this.
She tried to pull up a tremulous smile in the face of Dorian's unshakable cheer even though she had just vamped him. Unfortunately the effect was marred by the lingering trace of her bloodletting yet to be wiped off fully. Crimson smears of his blood obscuring the soft pink of her lips as she struggled to regain any poise in the situation. The lordling's comments deepened her flush, abashed at her actions. "I...haven't really been the biting type. Until very recent.....I am truly sorry. I've never lost all control like that before. I was just so....hungry, I couldn't think at all."
She frowned delicately, comprehension dawning on her on what her vampiric companion faced with wrestling such instincts. "It won't happen again, I promise....Not without asking." She hoped that were true, though now she had a new worry to add to the rest, whether she might attack someone else if the fever ate her wits again.
The question of the doll had her refocus back to Dorian, the glow of the sun through his eyes, the arcane glory of his form, "Murke made a doll. A decoy for the Curse. It worked too well..." She explained hardly above a whisper as she settled into the cushions, acting as her usual self now though she looked like a sated vampress unwittingly, "Now its run off...siphoned my powers...mimicked my appearance...But its just a spiteful hateful mockery of me."
She grimaced, not wanting to explain how she knew its attitude so well. "I can only imagine its causing trouble. I need to stop it somehow...but I was too weak." Llyw looked up at Dorian again, a true bloody smile on her face, soft and shining to him, "Until now. Thank you, Dorian."
The mention of repairs just had her shaking her head, not even caring about that now.
Dorian's smile disappeared when he suddenly had all of the tumblers click into place into one of sudden realization. What rumors he'd heard about the widow Esher made sense with some doppelganger doll roving about. He laughed a little bit when she explained it, and bent over to gently daub at his blood staining her face. He'd keep at this quietly at first, and unless he was swatted away would continue as he answered her, "I am glad you found a way out of that curse. Murke... I know her, she's a delightful girl. She must be terribly clever too." He also thought Murke was rather strange, but he didn't think that bore mentioning just now. Strange and possibilities for all manner of strangeness seemed on a different scale in the moment. "You look much better than when I found you. And don't mention it. Like I said, no harm done." He punctuated with a little half smile that might reassure her that he didn't have any intention of holding what had transpired against her, and tapped his chest near where his heart was twice before putting the bloody handkerchief back into his pocket so she wouldn't have to deal with it.
She was looking a bit more like herself, especially now that he'd gotten most of his blood off of her face, he'd step back from her apace giving her some breathing room, and inquire earnestly, "What are we going to do about this doll? Do you have it in hand, you think?"
Llwy watched realization dawn on Dorian's face, her eyes widening slightly as the unearthly being that he was bent close, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe gently at her mouth and chin. Live embers lived in the center of her eyes where his gold light now danced, the pupils that hosted such fire widening as well, the blood he wiped clean gathering its flushed hue more strongly across her cheeks.
This simple gesture flustered the widow more than any of the far more up close and personal bloody embrace they had just shared. "D..Dorian.." was all Llyw could whisper while he gathered up the traces of his offering, the seer so unaccountably shy at the oddest of times. It took a moment for his words to reach through to her, but she managed to blink and glance away, a frown forming under his ministrations. "It...seemed like a good idea." She sighed, admitting the bad news to dash his hopefulness, "It didn't work. The Curse remains. I need the caster's full name, then it can be broken."
The doom overhanging her like the sword of Damocles remained an everpresent threat apparently. But she was heartened by Dorian's reassurances anyway, at least concerning his own health after her shameful attack. The taste of him lingered on her tongue, lending further depth to the blushing embarrassment she displayed. His scent mingled with a strong flavor of cinders, of flame itself somehow if such a thing could be tasted, though with the fire that lived in her already melting her marrow inhuman, perhaps she had better insight to that notion than any other. "I do feel....much better. Better than ever. Thank you, good sir...." She murmured sweet and soft to her rescuer. She felt stronger than ever and he tasted good. Too good. That was a problem.
Llyw swallowed as Dorian finished cleaning her up and stepped away, taking his steady golden warmth with him thankfully out of her reach. She had to look away finally to hide what glowed in mirror in her expression, trying to tame the thrumming tempo of the fiery thing beating in her chest. She focused on the task he brought up, her soft voice venturing her Cajun accent languid as she wondered on a plan, "I think I will need all the help I can get. If you don't mind helping try to find the doll and stop it....And of course I still need help with the Curse, if I can get the information I need and then aid to break it..."
Dorian would probably have had a pale blush across his face if he wasn't currently golden hued and radiant in her view. For both of their sakes he'd not mention the sudden close moment they'd shared, but drive his focus forward. He'd seen her suffering since he'd known her, and took heart in being able to maybe do something to help, so of course he answered, with his gentle smile presiding, "I will be happy to assist, if I may. I will have a look around town for this doppelganger. But I have something to ask of you in return."
In place of the smile he'd been aiming her way, he held a serious expression on his face as if he was going to ask something terribly grave, then launched into it, "You just have to tell me, or tell someone before you end up on the floor, writhing in apparent agony, again. Do you think you can manage that for me?" He was backing toward the door that would not fix itself, with a mind to grab the pears in their box which he'd only just remembered. While he did this he'd maintain eye contact with her, awaiting her answer to his request.
Llyw smiled relieved at his offer of assistance, her pale skin refusing to let go the excess heat lingering on her cheeks. Gave a smile to match his own before he sobered and made his unexpected demand, retreating towards the broken door.
The seer hugged herself and grimaced, called out though he might not realize it. Her circumstances imposed upon her and drove her shame further. "I...am always asking for help. I want to help you too, you know. I want to give back what I've taken.." She sighed out, not even sure herself what she might mean by her last statement but the sentiment was clear enough. She hated being stuck in the desperate position she was in, needing so much help just to survive. But she was bound and determined to repay all aid, no matter how long it took.
Whether she might heed what Dorian wanted of her now however she didn't look at him when he got to the door. "I...just get so frustrated. Unable to do anything but lay there and suffer. I had to do something, anything....but I was foolish...I didn't realize how weak I was." Admitting this seemed to take the wind out of her sails a moment, before she met his eyes again and held steady, "You've helped me so much more than most...and you've helped me yet again. I'm much better now because of you.....Don't worry. I don't think I will fall like that again."
Unspoken the word, 'hopefully', putting on a brave front for the sake of the Windgrace who was always so sweet and kind to her no matter what happened, even making him bleed. "But yes, if you don't mind looking around and letting me know if you find the doll....I am not sure how dangerous it might be...but it has a facsimile of my powers." She winced contemplating that utter disaster, considering how destructive her power could be the few times she had uncorked it fully.
Dorian didn't know what facing someone with her powers might entail, but he didn't seem daunted either. He may not be the hero or the power his siblings were, but he could do some good around the isle. The same impulse drove him to want to join the fire brigade. Being a good and a loyal friend to a woman in need was second nature. He held one finger up to her to indicate he would be right back, then ducked out the door to get the box he'd left. When he came back in, he'd walk up toward her and leave the box upon the table in front of her. It was from a recent ship that had come in, and the fruit was juicy, already ready to eat. While he brought it to set down he'd be speaking again, machismo, bravado and long-ago sworn knightly oaths serving to keep him animated at an operative level after all that had transpired, "Good." He had replied when she agreed not to let things get so dire again. He repeated, "Good. I shall get myself out there and looking for her. I am sorry about the door, if I see her I will... well if I tried to apprehend her and she resisted, the constables might take issue, hm?"
Maybe he'd do that patrol of town on the morrow, after he'd had a few sandwiches. All of a sudden the notion of food seemed to beckon to him mightily. His neck wound was knitting itself back together slowly, but surely; it already no longer leaked blood. He lingered to hear if she had some trick to subdue the impostor, to make sure she really continued to look almost as well as he'd ever seen her.
Llyw herself wasn't sure what might happen in a confrontation with her evil doppelganger, though she unfortunately had far too much knowledge on the nature of the thing animating Murke's doll. Pure spite wearing her face, wielding her power with soulless abandon, fighting the thing might prove daunting indeed. Unfortunately the widow had no idea really how to counter something like this, but just a bitter instinct, so many horrible nightmares giving rise to a piece of advice whispered quiet, "I am not sure...but try to keep it talking. Just...don't listen to anything it says. I suspect the doll will eventually run out of the spell that made it. Unless it gets new power somehow."
A frown deepened on delicate lips, considering what she had just done with them, "Gods, it might try to feed ...like I just did, to sustain itself." She was hiding her face in her hands while Dorian nipped out to gather the fruit and brought his gift to the coffee table. Juicy pears at the height of ripeness was a considerate gift indeed after so many months of inadvertant embargo, so many of the less fortunate inhabitants suffering shortages and near famine conditions. The lifting of the Fog had been a momentous moment to celebrate, freeing the isle from its clammy existential menace.
Llyw had been so mired in her own agonies that she hadn't even had the chance to truly notice and appreciate the difference until this reminder that normal life had resumed on Callisto at last. She reached for one of the pears with her elegant black claws, wanting to wash the taste of Dorian out of her speculations with something less tempting.
Her willpower was more impressive than she knew, keeping herself together by sheer concentration, an ingrained habit, acting as if everything was fine with ironclad English levels of comportment. Dorian's blood had granted a living flame into Llyw, at least for a time, and she was bursting at the seams with an arcane influence gilding her eyes and energy in strange ways that might linger far beyond this moment.
Just as the scion of Windgrace put on a show of bravado, the widow made sure to seem completely fine with the fact she had drank from him and bloodied his shirt and swallowed some Eldritch eternity. She refused to look at the slowly healing bitemark on the sloping muscle of his neck, but she noted his polite retreat with a soft smile, focusing on his eyes, the endless radiance of them.
"Alright. Just be careful, will you. And I'll come visit next time, alright?" She smiled warm, a slight beaming shine to her soft features usually so morose, "Take care, Dorian, please. Don't worry about the door, I know you just did what you needed to and I'm glad for it, truly. Oh...this looks lovely..." She bit into the fruit, her little fangs sinking in to what he had given her. Dorian saw himself out from a visit that had been full of surprises...
Dorian was satisfied that she seemed well enough to get about again, so he would back toward the door again, and after making a courtly bow, assure her, "I shall let you know if aught transpires. And I will call on you again as soon as I may. Until then, take care of yourself!" That said, he'd step out, close the door gingerly behind him, then make his way home. It was a short walk to nourishment and comfortable seating... ....Probably in his room, where he could start to unpack what had just happened. He'd already had breakfast before he'd left, and lunch out with a couple of the family divers with questions about getting back into the water, but it wouldn't be too unusual for him to be nosing his way into the kitchen again.