my lucifer is lonely. [Lyra]

[Euripides]

56 Searing 121

The night was dark, but not yet as deep as the clouds had made it seem. The rain poured down to fill the streets that had emptied of people at the first crack of thunder and flash of lightning. Another fissure of light cut through the darkness of the clouds to illuminate a figure standing in the middle of the street. It had been a long time since she’d walked these roads.

Hair clung to her face, made her gaunt visage more ghastly. The lack of light gave her pale skin an almost glow. An ignorant watcher would call her a specter, and she might agree. Her breath was a rasp, tempered by the wet slide of rain past her lips. Her eyes slipped closed for a moment longer as she forced herself forward. A hobble of a gait, a shamble. Progress was made in painstakingly slow steps. Each one bringing forth a fresh wave of pain and frustration before she opened her eyes. She had come this far. She wouldn’t be deterred by a little more pain.

The rain, though, was a gift. The thunder drowned out stifled sobs. Smothered tears in the guise of drops of water from the heavens above. The heavens that she had sworn had forsaken her, but might have given her this minor boon for the moment. She limped forward another step, stopped.

This person she had come to see was her last hope. When she’d asked, the information had been offered to her willingly. Likely out of fear, and thus it might very well have all been lie. And she was walking into a dead end. That spoke much to the way her life had gone so far. She had no qualms. She might not have made her peace with a final breath, but she’d made it with this being a farce. She coughed, sucked in a breath that rattled her breath before she pressed on. One, two, three. Steps counted to keep her sane. To keep her mind off the ghost that watched her from a distance. Close enough to make out, but not close enough to touch.

Jieun had strayed from her since the wraiths had come. Had turned her into a silent, watching presence that could only stare on sadly. But this was what had to be done. She had no choice, no other way. She staggered forward, slipped down to one knee. If she could not walk, she would crawl. But she forced herself back up. Her weight was heavy on the door as she slumped against it. Rain pelted her as she glanced up at the signage to make sure it was the right one.

And then she slipped inside.

[Lyra]

It was the hour at which good men slept, and the wicked practiced their twisted arts. The rattling shutters overhead were accompanied by a whistling howl of wind that made the flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the empty shop. Electricity in the air smelled of grave soil and mold, and even one as old as Lyra could not help but shiver slightly as the crack of thunder put out the last remaining lantern.

At her desk Lyra read by candlelight, quill in hand, once more checking the ledgers before she would allow Naila to rest. The mercenary grew weary with these late nights, but Lyra felt none of that. She would attend to other things while she let her body rest. She smiled at the thought. 10,000 years had been more than enough rest in Lyra's mind. Trapped, imprisoned in darkness, and not even spared the mercy of slumber... Rest was something of mortals, not the shattered.

Another rumble of thunder made the scholar look up, pushing a stray hair behind her ear as she glanced at the timepiece on the wall. The night was half over, but the rain outside did not show signs of slacking.

"It is almost time to leave this place." Lyra said, glancing down at a cup that sat on the floor, collecting a steady drip of water from the ceiling above.

So you've said, but you haven't said where we would go instead.

The quill made quiet scratches in the silence that followed, and Lyra wondered on the question. The events of searing had shown Lyra how stagnant she had become, and she felt a growing restlessness. Yet there was no direction to it. There was simply... an urge to change. To leave, to be free again.

Glyphs along the walls glowed faintly as a heavy thump struck the door, and the smell of rain wafted in with the sound of the downpour as the door was opened. Lyra frowned, brows furrowing as she stood.

I didn't think we were expecting someone tonight. The traces of weariness were gone as Lyra felt the mercenary's focus sharpen on the hallway toward the door. Lyra stepped back from her control of their body, letting Naila slip into a relaxed, but ready stance with her hands folded at her waist.

"Be you, thief or customer, come in from the rain." Lyra called to the darkness, her golden eyes searching for the person who had entered, "The hour is late, and I would have our business concluded before dawn."

[Euripides]

Would that she could move on her own, the woman might have done more than twitch against the frame of the door. At least, for a short moment before she felt the familiar pull of her body. The forced spasm of muscle as the wraith within her seeped further into her bones. Took hold of her frame to force her forward in an odd shamble. Her gait was a mix of hiccuped steps and shuffles as hair clung to her face and neck, clothes to skin. The last time the wraiths had taken hold of her had not been pleasant, and it much less so now.

Pupetted forward, she let out a groan that drawled out like the creak of an old door. A plea for help swallowed up by pain and hold of her tongue. Of course, even as the last, it would instill that strike of misery upon her in giving her just barely enough. Another shuffle forward and it released her. Allowed the husk of her body to slide down gracelessly to the floor as her chest rose and fell with rattling breaths.

“Help.”

The only word she could get out in the moment, the agony of her possession still running its course. Above her, Jieun stood. Watching as she had grown accustomed to doing, but there was the stark shock of pity on her face. She turned away, attempting to push herself upright. All she succeeded in doing was sending another wave of pain through her battered body. There would be a lot to explain, and yet — she was in no shape to do it. She wondered what that must have made her look like. A drowned rat, perhaps, dragged in from the rain by a ghostly cat.

She shut her eyes, focused on her breathing. Then, again: “Help.”

[Lyra]

A shuffling thump of a body hitting the ground brought Lyra's attention down, and her gold eyes stared impassively at the wretched creature that sullied her doorstep. Against her protectors will she stepped around the desk, walking until she stood directly over the thing. It took the form of a girl, but through the veil, Lyra could see that what puppeted that body was not mortal. The music is sang was crooked, stuttering, and crass-like nails scraping the inside of her mind.

It spoke, and Lyra smiled an unkind smile as she knelt before the creature. One hand reached out and brushed back a soggy lock of hair to stare into the eyes beneath, and when she spoke her voice cold and mocking, "Pretender..."

Lyra spoke these words, not to the girl, but to the thing inside that she could see. A series of words in the ancient tongue followed, just as cold but lyrical in a way that matched the sudden flow of aether that began to expand outward from her hand. Black smoke flowed from her palm, black fingers clung to wet skin as reached forward, forcing itself into the nose and open mouth. Whispers echoed from it, and in them, Lyra imbued a powerful spell. She focused on the other thing, the pretender that played with the minds of the weak. In a breath, she snatched its symphony and then shattered it. Lyra remembered these creatures, the Wraiths from deep in the warrens. They were dangerous, yet to Lyra, they were but a shadow meant to mock her very existence.

Wave after wave of power flowed into the girl, pushing down on the shattered pieces of the wraith's consciousness, suppressing it, condensing it as the whispers encircled and pressed inward around it. As the last of the smoke slipped inside Lyra gave it the order, the highest level of whisper she could imbue. Suppress, control and contain that creature. It constantly fed dampening melodies into the wraith's symphonies, and when it grew too strong the whisper would mute its symphonies and begin the process again.

As the spell was finished Lyra let the wet strand of hair drop with a look of distaste as she wiped her hands with a cloth from one pocket. She didn't look at the girl, finishing and dropping the now dirty cloth on the ground by where the girl lay, "Who are you, and why should I help you more than I have?"

[Euripides]

The word wasn’t spoken to her so much as at her. Her brows furrowed as the whispers that had long since drowned out Jieun’s voice turned to a fever-pitched shrieking. A rebellious sound, like a composite of every off note she had ever played set to a new level of discord. They left a ringing in her ears and an ache in her bones. A shudder coursed through her as the woman smiled and smoke filled her vision. Fingers pressed into skin and the sympathetic touch turned into something less than sinister but as cold as the rain outside.

Ragged was her breathing, mind alight with the sensation she had not called upon herself. The woman produced a smoke — and her panic was instantaneous. Maybe it was the panic of a year in the Warrens, and the subsequent nights she’d spent on the streets. Maybe it was simply that she’d become so wretched a creature that the prospect of fire and warmth frightened her more than the thing inside her. But the panic was short-lived, tamped down by unseen hands. Cold and unforgiving — and yet.

She slipped into that space of calm so easily. Wore it like a brand new outfit she might have gotten for a show. Back then. Even as her body — not hers, but the puppet that the Wraith had made it — convulsed and fought the smoke that filtered in. A curiosity that she couldn’t feel the panic of noting. Nothing more than a dull sensation as she watched what was happening to her. Until she stopped.

The ex-legionnaire’s gaze drifted instead to the woman. Dark hair that fell over pale skin. If she squinted, she could see a trace of Jieun. But that wasn’t right. The girl stood above her, watching as she always did. Or no. Maybe she’d been transported. It was more than a surprise to know that she could reach out for the woman of her own volition, even if it was a struggle to do just that.

The woman slipped from her grasp. Fleeting like a daydream as she wiped her hands and asked her a question. Not one she was sure she could answer. How could she have helped herself?

“I’ll d-do anything.” She swallowed, groaned. It felt odd to have some semblance of control. The whispers had gone silent. “I will do…whatever you ask in return.” She still wasn’t strong enough to push herself to stand. So, she crawled as she had before.

“Anything you ask of me — it will be done.” Just one more moment. A glance up and she was seeing Jieun’s face again.

“Please.”

[Lyra]

Lyra stared at the unsightly display, baffled and annoyed in equal measures. Wordlessly she stood and took a step back from the crawling woman. Her hands, though wiped clean before, felt coated in a layer of filth that she could be rid of. Was it the girl's pathetic actions, or was it the thing inside her? Lyra was not sure, but the more she looked the more she felt disgusted.

That girls a real mess. Naila observed, but Lyra did not feel the same level of discomfort from the mercenary that she herself felt. Was it because she could not hear that grating noise? That chaotic melody that Lyra began to suspect was not fully due to the thing inside that girl?

"Anything?" She could not keep the chill from her voice as she repeated the word, "You have nothing I desire, yet you bring that thing into my shop, my home, and ask for my aid?" As she emphasized that word Lyra pointed at the girl's chest, her expression souring further as she could see it writhing about deep inside. I looked like a knot of worms coiled around the girl's own soul, squirming in a sickening way. Her whisper kept it subdue, yet as she stared at it Lyra felt anger rise hot like bile in the back of her throat.

"Who are you." Lyra spat, illogically angry at the sight before her in a way Naila had never seen, "Why did you come here, and why have you let that pretender latch itself onto your soul?"

[Euripides]

The woman stepped back and gone from her was the visage of the legionnaire’s lover. Full lips replaced by thinner ones, turned down in a scowl rather than a sympathetic frown. Her fingers curled around nothing, distance between them and the searing ache of pains forcefully forgotten. Her breath rattled in her chest, a wetter sound than it had once been before. Surprising, really. Again, Jieun was just out of her grasp, close enough to reach out to but not enough to touch.

Her voice was cold as she spoke of the anything that the legionnaire had offered, and posed the same question again. Who was she? The woman crawling on the ground like a maggot couldn’t have answered that question either. She’d lost who she was and even as she felt her lips speak her name, she knew that it was much a lie as anything she’d ever told herself in the last year to keep going. “My name is —” She blinked, ducked her head to stare at her fingers. Dirty compared to the floor beneath them. Water dripped down from her hair, landing on the back of her hands. Bruises from altercations past. She could hardly see them as the fingers that had once plucked at a guitar.

The first sob was painful. Made worse by clouded vision and the phantom glide of fingers through her hair in an attempt to console her. A lovely ghost, this thing she’d created in her mind.

“It was the only way out.” No, there could have been others. She simply hadn’t looked — she hadn’t the chance. She’d been betrayed. Not betrayed; used the same way that young boy had been. How she had offered, even if it was just a little too late to do so. Had Feia even survived? The thought had never crossed her mind, but she had to wonder if it had been worth it all to think of throwing her off a cliff.

Without the wraith, everything else that had been forced beneath the waters of their hold surfaced. The vexation of it all was no longer at bay. Her fingers curled, head lifting slightly. The same rattling breath she’d taken before felt worse, if that were possible. “The only way I can bring her back is to make a place for her. And people say you know how.”

[Lyra]

The anger threatened to well up once more, but Naila's voice broke through the tide as it reached its crest.

I think she's confused. The mercenary said softly, sitting up and watching through Lyra's eyes, Look at her. She looks like a drowned rat.

Certainly she needs help. Lyra answered as she continued to stare down at the girl, She is walking about the surface with one of those pitiful wraiths clinging to her. She is possessed, but the creatures should not be strong enough to hold on as long as this one has.

Slowly Lyra began to calm, her mind steadily taking back control where her emotions had ruled not too long ago. She studied the girl then, truly looking at her and the thing that clung to her soul like trash in a gutter. She also began to process what the girl's words actually meant, and the more she processed the more her lips thinned and her brow furrowed. Perhaps Naila was correct, and the girl was touched. Lyra herself had never seen the effects of prolonged possession, herself excluded of course, on the one's being possessed, but the symptoms this woman showed were peculiar.

"Stand, and come with me." her voice was cold, but Lyra forced calmness into her tone that she did not actually feel as she turned and began walking back toward the workshop. If she had to she would reluctantly aid the woman as they made their way through the workshop, to stop in front of a door that Euripides would have trouble looking at directly. With a wave of her hand, the glyphs on the door shimmered before the door swung inward, revealing a set of curving steps that lead down into darkness. A heavy scent of plants and chemicals wafted up from the depths, and without waiting for the girl Lyra would proceed down.

With a snap of her fingers, the main room of her lab came alight, and Lyra would point toward a test with a chair in the corner, "Sit."

Lyra herself would move to the long table at the center of the room where beakers, curved glassware, and other tools of alchemy rested and bubbled with mysterious substances. She began collecting samples of various plants from shelves around the room, but as she did so she would look to Euripides and say, "Tell me your story, in detail child. Where did you pick up that thing, why does it still cling to you... and what do you mean by 'need a place for her'?"

[Euripides]

The woman, she was beginning to realize, was likely to treat her much the same as anyone else. Another hope dashed; she would be sent away with nothing to show for this struggle. The ex-legionnaire had not truly been aware of the effects of the wraiths, if she were being honest. They had simply been a means for her getting topside and no more. What they had done became less important the weaker their hold on her image of Jieun had become. No more was the woman distorted in her vision, but looking much the same she had when they had first entered the Warrens. Soft, gracious. Gentle as she smoothed a hand over her hair. She almost wanted to tell Jieun to not touch her but she’d yearned for it for so long that the dismissal was effectively shrugged away as a fleeting, useless thought.

But she was wrong. The woman called her forward, and when she could not stand on her own, hands pulled her up and assisted her to a door. Tears welled up once more in her eyes, more so in incredulity of the woman actually helping. Someone else would have kicked her out. How saintly, how gracious. Surely, the gods had smiled upon her for the briefest of moments and this was the start of thing turning around. Things getting, even if minimally, better.

They walked to a door — she couldn’t be sure if it truly was a door or not. No matter how much she might have wanted to look at the space, her gaze was forced elsewhere. So, she opted instead, to look at the woman holding her up. Perhaps not as beautiful as Jieun, but marvelous all the same. Crafted as a being of deliverance from suffering. She would take that much, and make it more. Her kindness would be repaid.

She sat where instructed, groaning as her bones resettled and she had to shift around to get the smallest bit comfortable without making a complete mess of the place. Her curiosity was dampened by the fixation on Jieun, the other lingering close by as she took in the appearance of the laboratory. A vision, a wonder. She’d missed her. Missed the flowing silks and the perpetual light that touched her eyes, made them more lively than they had been in death. Not death. The legionnaire blinked, forced her attention to stay on her savior as she spoke again.

Her story? Her laugh was a hiccup that melted into a racking cough that made her lungs feel as though they rattled in the cage of her chest. How odd that someone should ask for her story. In the Warrens, no one cared — so long as it didn’t get them killed. Otherwise, she was a minor annoyance in the squad’s presence until they made it out. She pursed her lips, drew in another wet breath as her gaze dropped down to her hands. Bruised and battered; they were a testament to what she’d gone through already.

“I was in the Warrens.” With Jieun, with the Dead Legion. Would Lyra become warier of her if she knew that? That the woman before her was a criminal. “My...squad, they all—” She shut her eyes, saw the images burned behind them of the deaths that had occurred. It was not grief that stopped her. Not quite terror, but certainly guilt. She’d survived and they hadn’t. Feia may have made it out, but that was unlikely. So unlikely that she almost blamed herself for not being a better decoy.

“All dead, all dead.” Just the softest of melodies, croaked out. Less personal if it felt more like a song belonging to someone else. “Firs the skyguard, then that sweet boy. He didn’t deserve that; why was he there?” The question was directed at Jieun, just beyond Lyra’s shoulder. “Shamblers — chased us and picked us off one by one until it was just the wraiths and Jieun and Feia and I and then Feia pushed me and the wraiths took me and Jieun.” The further along she went, the faster her words got. Like she was running a race against something, a something she didn’t know.

“And then I climbed out of the gutter and ruined his life. I killed his wife. No, no.” She groaned, head in her hands now. “He killed her; with an axe. Their axe. My axe? I dropped my axe, didn’t I? In the Warrens. Yes, the Warrens, when we were trapped in the Warrens. Why would they give me an axe if they thought I killed her?” Another aborted laugh, her question directed at Lyra, searching for answers. But she would seem convinced that she’d relayed her story in full, even with the clear gaps and the nonsensical backtracking. It would only be clear that she was in Warrens, and that that alone had done something terrible to her.

[Lyra]

Quietly she listened as the woman spoke, moving between instruments on the long table as she prepared the ingredients. From a nearby shelf she cut several leaves from a short plant with white flowers, from another she took the petals, and still another a thin branch which she shaved until it was but a few fine strips of park. At the center of the table was a set of metal plates with inscriptions, and upon one she placed a large bowl and the strips of bark. She filled the bowl with water, and with a brush of her aether she activated the engraving and the concoction began to swirl, steadily being broken down as it was mixed.

She's from the legion. Naila said, That means she was likely some sort of criminal sentenced to death.

Is that so? Lyra looked over her shoulder at the girl, who while looking disheveled and lost, did not seem that dangerous to her. She was quite mad though, and despite the revulsion she felt for the thing inside her, a part of Lyra liked the tune of madness she gave off.

The other ingredients Lyra gathered were slowly being processed by mortar and pestle, the sound of grinding filling the silence that followed the woman's words. She had said a lot, yet the words were like air and carried no real substance. The girl had come from the Warrens though, and from those depths she had brought back one of those pretenders.

From a pocket Lyra produced a small vial of greyish, highly viscous liquid which she poured into a cup. She then added the prepared ingredients to a pot that was about to reach boil, and once it did she poured the liquid into the cup and slowly mixed the thick, foggy drink with a metal rod that shimmered with runes of light. The agitation rod did its work, activating the ingredients and diffusing the ichor fully into the tea. In the bowl the other reagents were still mixing, but when they finished Lyra poured the entirety of the bowl into a glass jar and set it onto another plate with a sigil of mutation inscribed on its surface. Another vial of ichor was poured into this jar, and Lyra turned and brought the prepared cup of tea to the woman where she sat.

"Drink this." Lyra said, extending the cup before returning to workbench.

"Your words are a jumble child, and your story more confusing than is normal for your kind. Let me ask you this simple question then. Do you wish me to free you from that creatures grasp?" Lyra looked back at Euri as she asked this, a hand brushing a stray hair from in front of her eyes as she smiled, "Perhaps if you did not need to share a body with that pretender you would find your thoughts much clearer."