SURRENDER cruelty brought the orchids ... The night before was a blur of spirits and ale, the acrid curl of tobacco and the heady hint of floral mist.  There was laughter and song, the trill of an out-of-tune piano and the drunken slur of a raspy shanty.  Patrons who had sat morosely over their drinks - grimly sulking at their tables - now stood in the line where the melodic fall of boots resounded on old oaken floors.  A line dance, they called it.  Bodies swayed, they giggled, and they toasted the night away.  One shot, two.  Where the moon once reigned, the sun began its languid march across the skies.  Another midnight spent in the haze of libations and another morning cursing the unbearable ache throbbing between both temples. Asmodeus' nose wrinkled when he pinched the bridge of his nose just below the metal arch of his askew glasses.  Blue eyes were held firmly shut, a feeble attempt to keep the glaring slivers of morning light from stabbing themselves like daggers into his already pounding head.  If he could silence the world around him, the racket of the morning larks and various coos of wildlife around him. Bleary gaze took in the green of the trees, the brush around him, the forest floor in which he lay beside a pile of what could only be presumed as vomit.  The stench of alcohol and partially digested food made his stomach churn in violent upheaval.  Whatever remained in his system joined the pile. As he lifted his gaze, he took in the strange appearance of a partially plucked chicken scratching around, searching for its morning fare.  He blinked once, then twice.  A note was wrapped around its neck, ink etching out a name, a heart and a racy endearment that could only be for him.  "Princess Pips?"  The bemused voice rasped out.  Whatever happened last night, it appeared that he'd earned himself a rather... unique manner of pet. While attempting to gather his bearings, Asmodeus stood, wiping away the grime of the forest from the dishevelled wrinkles of his muddied shirt and breeches.  From what he could deduce thus far, the closest town was miles away in some... direction.  Despite the throbbing ache rending his head asunder, Asmodeus looked towards the sky where the faint plume of smoke rose.  A sign of some type of civilization.  Giving the chicken a glance, he'd begin making his way towards the smoke.  Surprisingly, Princess Pips followed closely at his heels.  The hut they were lured to wasn't impressive by any means.  It held an eerie air about it, seemingly drawn from the wild tales of a witch's hut tucked into the middle of nowhere.  Broad knuckles brazenly wrapped upon the door.  A single tap, then two followed by a sigh.  What am I doing?

Poltergeist Tombstone; Whispers and rumors spun amidst nearby towns and villages that crossed paths between the wilds. A ghost or a witch that haunted these woods. Distorted, twisted words spill to spook a curious child’s heart to steer them away from wandering too far. She knew these tales, hearing them beneath the shrub whilst slaving away to her botanical labors. Should wandering eyes catch a glimpse of her she merely turned a blind eye and made sure to disappear further into the foliage –  as if never to have acknowledged passing travelers, their calls falling upon deaf ears. Let them believe what they want. The little hut was nothing to boast about. Moss and ivy hung and crawled form the sidings as if consumed by the very nature around it. Inside, a small wood-burning stove burned giving off enough warmth to keep the cold at bay. The hut was cluttered, plants in every crevice and corner, books stacked atop each other on some countertop or shelf, opened to some page while papers lay scattered about. Recently, feathers were added to the mix, long and vibrant with color malted from the curious phoenix that had since taken its perch within the small home. Clutter and disorganization was its best description yet she knew where what was amidst the chaos. The first knock at her door was unexpected. Busily grinding a common herb in her pedestal and mortar when the sound thumped against the wood nearly caused her to jump from her skin. The mythical feathered creature simply perked up from preening its feathers, uttering a gentle coo before shaking away any remaining dust or debris that may have sullied it. It took a moment for the healer to gather her bearings, her heart skipping a beat from the unexpected sound. After leaving the note for Avarice before her departure, Poltergeist had ensured to keep herself secluded, a recluse to the rest of society. It was safer that way. Perhaps it wasn’t real. That perhaps she was merely hearing things that did not truly exist. Such demons were often cruel and came on their own accord. Another knock came, following a third. The large bird looked to her expectantly, clicking its beak once as if to ensure it too had heard the sounds.  Poltergeist was quiet then, unable to help the millions of questions spurring in her head. What lie on the other side of that door? Why? Wasn’t the hour late? Though – she’d often lose track of time with such ease, missing a night or three without rest.  Finally, she moved from her workspace and made her way to the door. The knob turned slowly, the door opening as she took a step to the side in its slow swing. Tired lavender gaze slowly lifting, a soft gasp inhaling sharply with disbelief and words unable to form. It felt as though everything came to a complete stand-still. "Speech" ooc: -x-

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SURRENDER cruelty brought the orchids ... Unfathomably grotesque, a horridly gnarled creature birthed from the fables of superstitious preachers.  Wicked!  Married to the devil himself!  Vile heathens seduced by the temptations of magic and fortune.  A witch.  Asmodeus anticipated an elongated nose and snaggled teeth, hunched shoulders and eerily long, frail fingers to turn the handle on the door.  He waited for cracked, scarlet-painted lips to coil and greet him with a wry cackle.  A wave of a hand to invite him into whatever sinister things witches wanted men for.  How positively dreadful that'd be.  Instead of the seductive coo of laughter, Asmodeus listened to the feathered approach of the resident get closer and closer to the door.  The hinges whispered, the knob turned, and the familiar splash of lavender and herbs nearly sent him reeling to the floor.  "Dove..."  The word was a breathless murmur.  Perhaps there was some merit in these old tales for a witch was standing behind that door. She was beautiful in a way that only he could truly appreciate.  From the soft jut of her bottom lip to the dark circles encapsulating the vibrant lilac of her gaze.  Astonished doe eyes that he couldn't look away from lest they vanish again.  Weary facade, wrinkled slightly by age, a face he'd searched months to admire again.  He longed to brush the pad of his thumb against the subtle branches of her crow's feet if only to realize that this wasn't just another drunken hallucination.  Another trick of the mind sent to create further turmoil.  That as sure as the blood raced through his veins, violent tempo that it was, that she truly did stand in front of him. A shaking hand went to reach out only to be met with the harsh, head-rending slam of the door.  He winced, eyes closed tightly in a meagre attempt to dull the throbbing ache before tapping at the door again, praying that it would be she who answered.

Poltergeist Tombstone; Actions happened so suddenly she couldn’t recall slamming the door in his face. Limbs shook as anxiety and panic quickly took hold of her. That couldn’t have been him— she would try to convince herself. That individual standing outside was not Asmodeus. No, no. He was dead. He’d died. At least that was what she was thought to have believed at the time. Such events were still a vibrant memory of the fires set ablaze and the horrific screams that echoed in the distance. There were still fragments that happened within a blur, unrecognizable and illegible until finding safety briefly in the Sanctuary. A growling hiss etched into her ears, whispers that the man that stood behind that door was not truly there. A mere pigment of her twisted and plagued imagination. How cumbersome it was having to discern what was real and what was a fallacy. Part of her truly wanted to believe that behind that door stood the man she married. It just seemed so… unrealistic. There was another softer tapping knock, yet it sounded as though read a sense of aggression. Wicked laughter hissed in a bitter echo within her ears. A quiet coo fell from the phoenix, adjusting its wings. Lavender gaze turned briefly, glancing back at her new feathered roommate, biting in the inside of her cheek. She stood by the door, daring not to open it yet, placing the palm of her hand against it, following her temple. The stench of alcohol was there, but never acknowledged. Perhaps it was just a lost drunk, that just happened stumble upon her hut. Perhaps her actions were too quick, and she placed a false accusation? The door clicked once more, opening just enough to peer through the crevice made. Knots formed in her throat, and her heart fluttered in a rampant pace. “This is cruel,” she whispers, retreating back further into her little home. “My husband is dead, why torment me with a disguise?” She spoke as if she were speaking to someone else – to an entity that did not exist. "Speech" ooc: -x-

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SURRENDER cruelty brought the orchids ... It would part at his persistence, this crude wood door, the single barrier keeping her safe as if he were some slavering fanged nightmare come to steal her from this corporeal plane.  Rend her veins from their flesh; devour her down to the bone.  There were many things that Asmodeus would gladly take considerable vindication upon and his wife was not among them.  The queen of Crue Efros, however, for issuing the attack against Dunmeath and her soldiers for setting it ablaze.  Oh, what pleasure he'd have in severing the particular head who turned his estates to ash and spilt her blood in their home. The memory of dread crept into the back of his mind.  His body chilled; his stature grew rigid.  Soot replaced the delicate aroma of lavender seeping from behind the door.  A charm to keep them safe, she claimed.  At that moment, Asmodeus held little faith in her craft.  Seeing her now, however, filled him with a different sensation.  One of relief, of regret.  A plethora of wild, untamed emotions and a soft trill of joy tugged at the corner of his rugged, unshaven lips.  The faint flicker of a solemn smile, the rumble of a muted chuckle.  "This is cruel."  The little voice whispered.  "My husband is dead, why torment me with a disguise?"   Cruel indeed. A rugged hand rose to muss with the unkempt raven locks of his hair, brushing them away from the stark ice blue of his stare.  "Funny,"  He began on a groggy, rustic note.  "I thought the same of my wife.  Yet... you're here.  Alive, I think."  Inquisitive stare peered into the hut, wondering just how long she'd been holed up here.  Had she fled the moment the screams started?  When the soldiers began their attack on Dunmeath?  Had it been her plan before it all started while he was away collecting rent?  Did she seek to be rid of him once and for all?  He couldn't blame her, but it was still a bitter thought, one that caused his jaw to grow taut and his brow to furrow.  Any regard for manners was abandoned as he attempted to push open the door, to invite himself into her little hide-away and - possessed by wicked jealousy - ensure that she was its only resident.

Poltergeist Tombstone; What little light that shone within the hut came from the dying embers of the stove. Slivers of sun peered through the dense foliage in the stretching morning. A tiny reminder that the night had gone again – another day lost in the throes her labors. It was an escape – to run away from the grievances of a reality she was not so willing to face. It was why she was here tucked away in this little hut, uncharted; hidden.  The Sanctuary was not a place to thrive as time etched on, pretending like nothing ever happened.  It was why she left the estate in the care of her child and the caretaker that so loyally clung to her side with promise to eventually return. Yet she was reminded so cruelly of those moments. She could have done something. Anything to prevent that horrific moment – those wicked little unseen demons convinced her that she was at fault. Her husband was dead because of her misgivings and now they go so far as to wear his face at her doorstep?  Funny.  Air sucked into her lungs, unable to keep the trembling at bay, anxiety gripping a firm hold of her bearings. Her feet felt as if they had been nailed to the floorboards, frozen and unmoving.  I thought the same of my wife.  Yet... you're here.  Alive, I think. Her lips pressed tautly together as a stray raven curl escaped its bindings and swept against her face. The door groaned as its weight shifted in force used to swing open. “You reek of ale.” Was all that managed to sputter from her lips. Hands gripped the skirt of her attire, fist clenching as knuckles whitened as if to hold on for dear life. “No-no this isn’t—this isn’t real.” Salt stung her lilac eyes in the overwhelm of uncertainty. This wasn’t fair.  How dare they torment her—and for what? “Why do you taunt me, demon?” The dam had since broken and the tears began to roll down her face. She’d hoped distancing herself from the world, to drown herself in whatever it was she did, would have helped her move on—to be that distraction she desperately sought for a man that once upon a time tried so desperately not to fall in love with. “Asmodeus,” she whimpered, her head hung between her shoulders, “I miss you.” "Speech" ooc: -x-

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SURRENDER cruelty brought the orchids ... The door relented with little retaliation and with a single stride, Asmodeus was beyond its threshold and embraced by the warmth of the humble hovel.  It was exactly what he'd expected.  Much like the sunroom in their manor, a section of the home reserved for her craft, there were plants aplenty hanging from the ceiling by threads of twine or sitting on shelves by the windows.  Jars of various dried herbs and tinctures were neatly organized while everything else seemed to be sewn of chaos - to him at least.  Of course, there was the mortar and pestle still damp with her current project.  It seemed that some things never changed; once again he had disturbed her work.  "You reek of ale."  He almost chuckled at her observation.  "Speaking of,"  He murmured, bold gaze sweeping over the labels of the jars as he approached them.  None of the names made sense, naturally.  "have you got something for this awful headache?"  Asmodeus shifted uneasily as she spoke up again, this time with a familiar emotion quavering throughout her voice.  He hated that sound, her lament.  Hated it more than the queen of Crue Efros.  With a great and heavy sigh, Asmodeus turned towards her to see the well of tears begin to slip down the angular contours of her face.  A great plight of sympathy adorned his more harsh, rugged features.  His unshaven lips fell into a frown as he stepped closer to her to brush away those saline rivers with the pad of his thumb.  "I am here, little dove.  Flesh and blood as you are."  He'd reach for her hand to place it on his chest where the familiar thrum of his heart would thump against her palm.  "I looked all over the country for you."  He spoke almost mournfully.  "For months, even, hopping from town to town.  I thought you'd been taken, or worse.  I couldn't find any trace of you... nor could Avarice."  The grip on her hand tightened slightly as he recalled the pain that had consumed him, that drove him into that well of dark despair that even the most voluptuous woman or the strongest ale couldn't pull him free of.  He imagined it had been the same for her.

Poltergeist Tombstone; The nights had blurred together at some point – perhaps this was a dream she could not escape? She never was one to find the time to care for herself and would rather indulge herself in her practices. Yes, that had to be it. She did not hear him mention the ache that sullied his temples: the aftermath of night filled of spirits, the consequence of a horrific hangover. It was not with ill intent or purpose: easy to be consumed within the inner turmoil that plagued her. A habit she never fully grasped to know she had or would merely reject such suspicions. It wasn’t until the space between them was bridged and the advantage taken when a tear was smeared away from her lips by the brush of his touch. A soft gasp escaped her lips, disbelief and confusion quickly claimed the furrow of her raven brows as lilac caught the gems of sapphire that made his eyes. I am here, little dove. Flesh and blood as you are. Her hand was claimed by his, ushered to the center of his chest where she was met with the drumming beat of his heart pulsed. Her ghastly gaze would widen then in the slow, ebbing rise of realization starting to sink in. I looked all over the country for you. His words came though sounding some what diluted as if submerged beneath ocean white caps. Attention remained planted upon the stretch of her palm against his chest as if claimed by shock. As if such a reality seemed impossible to believe. For months, even, hopping form town to town. I thought you'd been taken, or worse. I couldn't find any trace of you... nor could Avarice. Her gaze lifted at the mention of their daughters name. Her lips forming as if the speak of her little cherry blossom dispite the contempt he had of her birth. Finally, her freed hand lifted then reaching the gently touch his unshaven cheek, the bend of his jawline. A breath escaped her in a shudder; “Asmodeus,” Oh if this truly were a dream then she dare not wish to wake from it. Fingertips barely swept across his lips then, “My raven,” A ghost of a smile managed to peek through her worn features. Such a moment was incredibly short lived as uncertainty slowly sought to crawl back; “But—… they told me you were dead,” Her gaze fell as she placed her hand over his that held the other with a gentle placement. “That you died and it—…” her bottom lip curled inward, hesitating for a biting moment. “… and that it was my fault.” "Speech" ooc: -x-

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SURRENDER cruelty brought the orchids ... Understanding grasped her and seemingly chased away those howling demons thinking him nought more than a malicious illusion.  A being emerged from the womb of cerebral desperation when he was a being made of humble flesh and bone.  He was but a man whose pain had pushed him into the bottom of a glass; whose mourning lead him to a sinner's end.  A man whose heart had, at last, found its prized piece in the warmth of her stare and the endearing touch of dulcet fingertips.  His chest shook with a shaken breath, a searing sigh branding his lips. They grazed him with an almost child-like curiosity as if he were some frail treasure that would shatter beneath her gossamer fingers.  As each passed the curve of his mouth, he'd lavish it with an adoring kiss.  His gaze never left the tumultuous contours of her face that displayed a plethora of emotions, a well of tears, doubt chased with a flicker of quiet agony.  Asmodeus listened to her plight and felt the warmth of her hand placed over his.  A warmth he'd so sorely missed in the near year that they'd been apart.  Dark brow furrowed while she spoke.  "They?"  Regardless of the answer, he'd pull her flush against him.  "They were mistaken.  I won't be done in that easily, dove.  Nor would it ever be your fault."  Rugged lips pressed firmly against her temple.

Poltergeist Tombstone; His body burnssss. To ashes and dussst.  You did nothing – you ran away. A shuddering breath exhaled from plush lips as those moments replayed like a broken record in her head. Enough to where she began to question if it were true before it getting ingrained into her skull that it could have very well been. Nightmares plagued her whenever she did manage to lose that war between herself and the sandman and the hallucinations worsened It was why she had shut herself away from the world, enough to where she merely wrote letters to Avarice – to have been vague of her location but ensure her child was well. They?  Her lips pressed tautly together, nearly jolting where she stood as if suddenly caught like a deer in headlights. Nevertheless, she felt the gentle tug of his arms as he pulled her in. Poltergeist welcomed the embrace as she buried her face in the wall of his chest, disregarding the heaviness of alcohol that lingered in his fabrics. They were mistaken, His words came with a sense of promise and affirmation. I won't be done in that easily, dove.  Nor would it ever be your fault. She could hear the beating thrum of his heart, the sound of his voice while her ear pressed against him. “I—I missed you.” her emotions came crashing down like a dam breaking beneath a weak wall. The tears poured as her arms finally wrapped around him, if he willed it, sobbing into his shirt. "Speech" ooc: -x-

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