Condemned to the Fickle and Wicked

A/N: I have no idea why it's so hard to publish a work of mine here lately. Blogger don't like copy paste much?

Prompt: “Evil from within that has been let out."

***

The mind was capable of horrors that reality couldn’t begin to fathom, couldn’t bear to stand. This, was something she understood very well even without living the experience. Horror that couldn’t be spoken, that could only be restrained within the mind as ideas, birthed from the darker side of circumstance and emotion. Because to execute such would be the ultimate social death in the society in the world of Matter, the world she called her reality. And while she had fantasies about the end of life, being a murderer was something she frowned upon.

But it was something she did not dissuade completely, at least in the land of the Immaterial.

It didn’t completely surprise her then, that when she sensed another presence in the room, she didn’t do more than jump a little in her seat as the figure stopped by her side.

“Good evening, Haizek.” The man said in a lilting tone. A smile spread across his pale face which had splatters of blood. They trickled down his cheeks in thin rivulets, cascading down a flawless and pale throat before seeping into the usual pristine white of his robes. But even then, his clothing had been a white canvas on which a rich crimson was splashed on with careless regard.

Drip, drip, drip the droplets went. But as they fell they disappeared into nothingness a mere hair’s breadth from the linoleum covered floor. A walking macabre that was fit to be hanged on a museum’s wall for the world to gaze upon in horrified fascination. She wished that he being hanged could be made true. But it was an impossibility she knew all too well.

The girl, Haizek, spared him a quick glance from top to bottom. “Any of that yours?” Haizek asked as she turned back to the sketch on the table.

A soft laugh, with a dark undertone of madness reached her ears. “Do you need ask?”

“Obviously not.” She quickly answered with barely a show of emotion. She tapped the pencil against the table, focusing on anything but the manic presence beside her. From the corner of her eyes though, she saw movement of that stained sleeve, however it was only that he crossed his arms over his chest. As if sensing the underlying concern, he spoke, “Rest easy. From time to time, I do enjoy visiting those phantom worlds the Children so love to get lost in.” A soft chuckle cut in, “Did you know about the double purpose of those worlds?” The question hung in the air.

Phantoms made of flesh and blood, denied the grace of Time or Death. She stopped tapping the tool and sketched out patterns on the folds of the robe, only to erase those mere seconds after.

Immortal fodder for the decadent.

“It is wonderful how your skills are improving,” Said the white-haired man, peering down at several sketches resting under his splayed palm. He seemed to grow disinterested after a moment, and so turned his sights once again on the artist.

The hand that was on the drawings transferred to her shoulder, settling down with a gentle squeeze. “Azrael has been very good in tending to that. I do not understand why you vehemently think his loyalty’s work is otherwise.”

“I hate your voice.”

“Azrael’s burden is so great. I do not want to even begin to fathom how he has been handling your fleeting rejection and acceptance so well.”

“You know why. LeRoux, don’t be stupid.” She placed heavy emphasis on the second and last word. Glaring up at him, she continued, “It’s revolting that you would try to be dumber than you really are.”

LeRoux blinked owlishly, then laughed. “Ah yes, yes. Apologies then. Perhaps that idiotic priest Child’s glaring tomfoolery is beginning to grow on me.” She felt the weight of his hand lifting from her shoulder. Belatedly, she realized the grip she had on her pencil had loosened a notch at that.

I hate him so much.

Haizek decided to drop any thought of prolonging the conversation. Screw being politely outraged, she’ll leave that to the more refined gentlemen and ladies. “Why the hell are you here?”

There was that smile again. “An evil. A necessary evil.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, asshole.” Her answer made LeRoux frown and sigh, almost like a father would to a swearing child.

He ran a hand through his hair, humming in annoyance at the blood that began to congeal his hair into spiky clumps. “I’m curious. While Belucci does engage me still in our marvellous dance of death and rebirth, it hasn’t been as often.” He let his hand fall from his hair, to rest it against the table’s edge as he leaned against it.

Carmine eyes regarded her with barely veiled curiosity and accusation. “It could be that... you are stopping him?” Haizek looked to him, watching him watching her. Well, there were some things even he wouldn’t know.

She answered him. “I don’t have that kind of power over any of you.” It wasn’t a lie, not a complete one anyway.

LeRoux tilted his head, reaching out a hand to brush against her cheek. She didn’t flinch, but the narrowed eyes spoke volumes of her being uncomfortable with the contact. “Stop touching me.” She made to swat his hand, but it quickly went down to tap a finger at her collarbone. The light in his red eyes momentarily gleamed with realization as that finger traced feathery circles over where her heart was under the layers of skin and cloth. “Ah, so you are deviating his advances then.” The tone sounded crossed between slightly impressed and infuriated.

The look on his face was what he would show when someone stole away his partner, permanent and not. It was uncommon, but she knew such cases to happen and relished in his frustration every time, even if it was at her own expense sometimes.

“Call it trying to give his duty a more effective result.”

“Is it?”

“It is. He didn’t object to it. And looking at it this way, if you’re here after spending who knows how long on those worlds, it would only mean that it is working.”

There was a moment of tangible silence then. Haizek impatiently turned back to her drawing, scribbling a few notes and boxing them under the sketches before a chuckle floated to her ears. She resisted the urge to look at him and throw a useless punch at him. Then again, she would realize much later that it was a far better to have acted on it than leaving that feeling to be consumed by him.

“Well, no matter. A change in the script is not very troublesome.” LeRoux flicked his wrist, looking for all the world as smug as a narcissist would. “Actors learn to adapt to sudden changes in the story. It wouldn’t be the first time I would need to ad libitum.”

Bastard. She let out a long and low growl. “Get out. Leave me alone.”

“In a moment.” He answered.

“I never should have created you.”

“Or rather, should I have never revealed myself to you? That is the question, isn’t it? Who influences who?” LeRoux said, examining his nails with interest. He closed his eyes, letting that smile stay. “I have always been there. And always I will be, in your lifetime. There is only one way to rid me off the stage.”

He sighed, opening his eyes to look at her in mirth. “But murder is something you frown upon.”

She threw herself at him. He laughed a little as she pressed him to the floor, hands on his crimson stained neck, squeezing it in a death grip. Eyes a window to the soul, he saw in them the burning despair and hate, shackled and restrained by so many chains of gold and crystal, to only allow a faint gleam to show.

Infuriating, but a challenge is a challenge.

“Come now.” LeRoux smirked, unfazed by the hands attempting to cut his supply of air. “This is not an effective way.” He reached up his bloody hands, mirroring her grip on her neck.

“If you want to kill me, this is the way.” He spoke softly in that lilting tone. “Press down here,” his thumbs rubbed against that soft spot, “And maintain a steadfast will to not let go.” He finished.

The veiled pain in her aloof eyes only made his smile widen.

“But of course, you abhor murder.” His hands fell away, just as her own released his neck. She scrambled up, facing away from whilst rubbing at her neck as if his touch burned her. Perhaps it did. She did not speak, not even when he gently patted her head.

“Thank you for making the story even more interesting. Keep me entertained, will you not?” Her answer, his own answer to the question, was there but left unspoken.

In a blink of an eye, he was gone. Not a trace of his presence left in his wake.

Not anything that reality could see or fathom.

End entry.