“My darkest darling of all,” said she, smiling coyly at Samanthŕa, “why ever would you spy when you are dwelling in your true home?" Just then, the shapes and colors of the chamber changed to something more befitting of them both. The tones became golden and tranquil . . . as if something out of an ancient dessert temple. Crimson sheers fluttered softly before the open balcony that opened to a rusty citrus sunset. Powerful glyphs burned across sandstone walls. The smell of incense . . . of frankincense and myrrh burst throughout the room.
"Ah, that is better. I am surprised you could stomach something so . . . so . . . whimsical and, well, fluffy for so long." Chymeŕah smiled. No one seemed more befitting of a Goddess's robes than her.
"My surroundings do not concern me as much as what makes my sisters happy. They were cursed to such grim surroundings for so long." Samanthŕa reflected on some of the families they were forced to live with. How their dwellings began to reflect the slow demise of their families connection to the Many Lights. How Evil seemed to taint them, even if Samanthŕa could not seem to convince Dĩas or the Elders of that. "If their dreams are filled with sparkling clouds, mystical masquerades, and Fãeŕé dust, then so be it."
"Well, now they are more you and I." Chymeŕah snapped her fingers. A goblet of something more suiting of her appeared. She sipped slowly, then whipped her thoughts back to what brewed within her mind. "Back on point . . . no spying, daughter. You, like your sisters, have freedom of the domain here. No Dĩas or Elders to hide from. Simply do whatever it is you wish to do. I give you no rules to suffocate you. No robes of so-called reason tightening across your neck.” She sat on the bed and her mind suggested to Samanthŕa that she sit in front of her on the floor. She didn’t hide her great glamour. Her mother’s charms could work her and others so easily, as if they were nothing more than puppets.
Samanthŕa sat willingly, and Chymeŕah began to comb out her long silky locks. Her hand waved throwing open a drawer in the vanity across the room. Jeweled clips and pieces spun through the air and into her palm. “Though I am their source, it offends me when you bring your habits here. The things you must do, that I helped you learn to do, to survive your over protective and very dominant father. You need to know when to lay such things down, tucking them away for another time.”
“Old habits are hard to break,” Samanthŕa admitted while the name Beloved was still sending signals of wariness down her vertebrae. Anger, curiosity, and weariness still soured in the pit of her stomach.
Her mother was a free spirit. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, despite the consequences. She had a great detachment inside her that made her stronger than most women. She was able to sacrifice whatever she had to, despite her love or obsession for it, in order to achieve a greater outcome. She could not be controlled and her powers made her lethal. Her ability to shut down her emotions made her a dangerous warrior during battle.
When Samanthŕa was allowed to be with her mother, she had no restrictions, rules, or boundaries. Even as a child, Chymeŕah praised and supported her no matter what she did or what mischief she caused. Once, Chymeŕah was teaching Samanthŕa how to conjure fire in order to feed.
“Focus now on the candle daughter, focus,” she remembered her mother saying. Samanthŕa caught the entire stables aflame and nearly burned down the realm. Chymeŕah was able to undo it but even if she couldn’t have, she would have still praised Samanthŕa. No matter what curse, even the ones she brought home by mistake to Chymeŕah, or what trouble Samanthŕa caused, her mother adored her, praised her and encouraged her to do more. It made Dĩas absolutely demented, which was also a perk as far as Chymeŕah was concerned. She lived to get under one’s skin.
“I am assuming your sisters have told you everything they remember? After you passed out?” Chymeŕah smirked as she braided small strands of her daughter’s hair with golden Sephŕel twine. They used this a lot in their clothes and hair because the Sephŕel, those tiny golden beings with wings, spun enchantments into their threads and garments. These enchantments as well as other charms and spells were forms of protection.
Samanthŕa nodded. “I have been waiting to hear what you have to say concerning all of this.” She raised a brow but did not move. She knew her mother would have something to say, something that would be absolutely unacceptable if her father were here. Obviously, since the very ones her father hated for whatever reason was somewhere ten stories below keeping company with her all too willing sisters. "So," she prepared herself, "If you would say it."
“I reserve my right to say anything.” She finished with her daughter’s hair and stood up, admiring her work. Of course, a little magic here and there helped perfect the finished style.
Samanthŕa stood and looked into a large mahogany framed mirror. It had mystic symbols burned into it to prevent one from using it as a doorway or portal to cause harm. Again, her mother planned for everything.
Chymeŕah had piled some of Samanthŕa's hair on top of her head while its soft ends fell in lose curls down her back. Some pieces were braided or woven. They were very small pieces, which looked like a golden web because of the Sephŕel twine. It matched the white gown she wore, which was trimmed with more of the golden twine and symbols.
"Obviously you want something or else I would not look like this." Samanthŕa smiled a little but not much.
“I simply wish you to savor this moment, let your curiosity breath freely for once, and go downstairs to meet our guests. You realize that it’s not every night someone gets to meet the Father of their Blood. If Dĩas and others, who shall remain nameless, had their way, you would have never met him.” Chymeŕah winked.
“About that--” Samanthŕa turned to confront her. “Why is it that they hate him so, particularly Dĩas?”
“Why don’t you ask Daŕēus yourself, my darkest darling?” Chymeŕah grinned as she escorted her daughter downstairs.
“Then at least tell me why he has laid his claim over me.” Samanthŕa bluntly stopped but her Mother urged her along lovingly. "I know you can tell me that."
Chymeŕah simply shook her head and laughed. “If you were more familiar with the old ways and they had not been kept from you, then you would know this is something common with our people, especially concerning the High Priestess and her safety. He is the Father of the Blood, Samanthŕa, and you are High Priestess of those bloodlines. If he believes you are in danger then he has the right to lay his claim over you for reasons of protection. Your welfare is his responsibility.”
“And this means he will force an Awakening on me?”
Chymeŕah rolled her eyes regarding her daughter’s paranoia. “It has nothing to do with your Awakening."
"Then why did I act the way I did when I smelt his blood? Why did my fangs . . . why does my beast cry for release . . . why have all the other Viis--"
"Samanthŕa, his blood is the most pure, the most powerful, and the most untainted essence in which we have ever known. Why, it even stirs forces in me."
What she said made sense. Still, Samanthŕa remained cautious. "So he will not force an Awakening?"
"If you wish it.” She winked.
“You know how I feel about that. I do not wish to be bound to any male because of some nuisance of an Awakening.” Samanthŕa focused on her false reasons.
“Yes, well maybe one night soon we shall take advantage of this time we have together and speak about that."
"Why?"
"I am unclear about your reasons and feelings and would like to know if Dĩas has brainwashed you concerning them.”
Samanthŕa said nothing else. Her mother was picking up on something so she needed to be careful of her words. It would take little to nothing for Chymeŕah to work past Dĩas’ spell that protected Samanthŕa’s knowledge of the curse and kept others from discovering it. Knowing her mother, she would tell Samanthŕa not to worry about such things and just do what every other Vii does, Awaken. Chymeŕah was all about risk, and Samanthŕa was the same way-- except when it c
ame to the fate of her sisters. She also knew her mother would turn the Realms upside down if she knew of the potions Dĩas had her taking. For his safety and the safety of TEŔAH it was best if Chymeŕah never discovered the truth about this one.
Continuing on their journey by foot so that her mother might have a bit of Samanthŕa's time, Chymeŕah’s home began to reflect her own dreams and taste and not that of her children. It was eccentric as well as eclectic. Some rooms were light and elegant while other rooms were dark and gothic. One type and color of marble blended into the next. It was highly polished throughout, so that the floors felt as though you were walking on liquid mirrors. Candles burned from every angle but not the crystals which glowed in other parts of the realms. Her mother loved and preferred candles, much as Samanthŕa did. They hung from the ceilings and walls and filled tables. Years of wax trickling down receiving the new wax which melted softly into their bases. Hardly any of the NORSŔAH crystals existed. Chymeŕah loathed the race of strangers. She said her reasons were many but the simplest one was that she trusted no one which turned their back on their own. And that’s what the NORSŔAH did to the Phãegens. She wanted nothing of their imprint around her.
Pausing, "Are you ready Samanthŕa?" Chymeŕah asked with a whisper. "For you have a chance to meet someone who witnessed the birth of our world. Who stood before the Great Goddess before she was bound silent and invisible to us. Who may speak of many things our tongues were forbidden to. Who can teach you the old ways . . . of things long forgotten and lost."
While all of those things tweaked Samanthŕa's curiosity like nothing else, she said nothing. Instead, she took a long deep breath and followed the excited steps of her mother.
They entered the Dining Hall, where everyone seemed to already be gathered. A very long, sleek table, which was continually adjusting to suit the number of her mother’s guests, centered the room. Fires burned in marble hearths along both sides. Chairs and small couches sat in front of them. Before Samanthŕa could register everyone’s presence, a tall man greeted her with others flocked around him. She felt a little dizzy, eyes burning through her skin, as if she had been cornered and swarmed.
Chymeŕah simmered with excitement taking another goblet in hand. Samanthŕa sighed with relief. Although tall and intimidating, the one who confronted her was not the one called Daŕēus. In fact, she could not see him at all. Perhaps when she didn’t skip happily to greet him like her giggling sisters, he left. She was relieved by that at this point.
“Samanthŕa, this is one of the Brothers—Maŕēus Morãe.” Chymeŕah introduced him and Samanthŕa remembered Morrgãyne speaking his name earlier. He looked quite fierce, with deep, distinct features and shoulder length dark brown hair. His skin was tan and his dark foreboding eyes shimmered with a soft silvery glow. He was handsome but distant. He kept himself that way, she sensed, always watching, observing, and exhibiting little to no emotion whatsoever.
“Sister,” he said, which was a common way they addressed one another. Strygĩ and Lycãon families were so large that they did not sort them out with titles of aunt, uncle or cousin unless it was an Elder or one of great power. They did not age, but instead reflected the age they desired to show. There were no signs to determine who was eldest or not, so everyone simply was called sister, brother, daughter, son, mother and father when it applied.
He kissed her hand when another slipped in at his side. Chymeŕah announced proudly, “Lucēan Lycãon.”
“It is a pleasure.” He bowed to her so very gently while Sameŕald hung on every word, every movement. Samanthŕa, however, was intrigued by the surname. Her Great Aunt Vlachŕa Kaléé was a Lycãon.
His eyes were a pale blue and his features were very sharp and defined, much like Daŕēus. He was very handsome and she could tell that those charms of his flattered anyone who came across his path. She sensed a poet and writer in him as well as a warrior. These things meshed well with the dominant wolf inside him.
“Will you please quit hogging her?” Another man zestfully pushed him out of the way. Before Samanthŕa had a chance to register what was going on, a very tall someone grabbed and hugged her. He let her go but kept her hands in his.
“Samanthŕa,” Keysãe started to giggle. “This is Danyól Remŕak. The one I told you of earlier.” Danyól had gold flickering eyes. He had light brown and blond hair, slightly past his shoulders. He was tall and alluring. She saw mischief on his face. He seemed so familiar to her yet she didn’t know why. Since they shared the same bloodlines this could be one of the reasons, though she didn’t think so. It was too simple an explanation. Was it their kindred mischief? She had no time to sort it out. Another tall warrior pulled her away.
“Since Danyól will not willingly give you up, I shall just take you. I am Mãiŕyk Ampére and it is wonderful to see you.” Mãiŕyk bowed as he stole her hands away from Danyól. He had blond hair paired with deep blue eyes. His features much like Danyól’s, soft, yet masculine and defined. Samanthŕa caught the scent of Jezaŕah upon his skin. She raised a brow but had no chance to deliver a warning look when Chymeŕah introduced yet another one, Lushãyen Ruvrãe. He looked as though he was Lucēan’s twin except his features were much darker. He had a wilder look about him as well. The beast was strong in this one. He was feral, untamed.
Lukaŕd Lycãeus was the last in line. Lukaŕd brought Dezarãe with him as he offered his arm to her. He had very long hair like Lucēan, almost black, and jade colored eyes.
Each held the name of one of the six bloodlines. Now this she found interesting, especially when she realized her sisters held the names of the other six, including her. The only asymmetry which stumped her was that Dezarãe had the name Lampiŕ, as Samanthŕa herself did. The mystery rankled. She felt she was on to something but the shared name threw her off track. She had no time to sort it out in her mind, which fed her frustration. She had one more person to meet. Dread overcame her other emotions.
Samanthŕa watched the others move away as the giant appeared. Daŕēus Dracuŕa, Father of the Blood-- his was the thirteenth bloodline and lost surname of the ancient world. He seemed more tamed this evening than he had before. No longer were his clothes ripped by battle nor was the blood of his enemy stained upon his skin. He wore black, like the rest of them—gathered sleeveless shirt revealing his strange marks, leather pants, and high boots. His hair was neatly pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. His eyes, though, were still just as powerful. Samanthŕa made sure to avoid them.
He bowed as Chymeŕah introduced him. He reached for her hand. Samanthŕa slyly avoided it, remembering what happened the last time she took his hand, the last time she stared directly into his eyes. She pretended to see something fall to the floor. She dashed to grab it and then announced with surprise, “It seems supper is being served.”
The blind Phãegen servants, who began to bring in the meal, supported her diversion just in time. Chymeŕah explained their presence to Daŕēus as they carried trays of food with perfect instinct.
"Out casts because of their lack of sight, I bring them here, allowing them to earn a living and feel worthy of life." Chymeŕah was not above bragging, as she adjusted one woman's golden blindfold. "The cloth is enchanted, allowing them to know the way even if they cannot see it."
"Mother pays them handsomely. And it makes her feel better when no eyes are upon her." Dezarãe laughed.
"Evil cannot spy through eyes if they do not work to begin with." Chymeŕah laughed.
They proceeded to the table.
"Normally, Evil would make quick prey amongst Phãegens with a handicap." Dezarãe added. "If only others of our bloodline were as wise as Mother. We could help many."
Samanthŕa ignored their rattling away. She was hungry. She was literally starving since Daŕēus’ blood caused her to do so. Food was a small way for her kind could gain strength and energy but none the less, it worked. Food was a quick but short fix. It also brought pleasure since their taste buds were highly sensitive. All t
hings had energy, essence, and it was the essence which gave immortals fuel to burn. Since their emotions, strengths, and magic were a thousand times greater than a Phãegen, they needed lots of energy to replace what their metabolisms burned up.
They could gain it in many ways besides food. The raw elements were another source. Blood was the strongest as it was the most powerful essence in life, though they had no reason to kill to get it. They obtained the blood needed from other willing family members. The blood of their own was strongest unless it came from one of the spiritual beasts which roamed the realms. Feeding off Phãegens was a complete waste of effort since their blood was different. It could be done, but like food, it was fleeting.
Samanthŕa made sure to put the table between her and Daŕēus, with him on one side and her on the other. It did not keep him from smiling strangely at her but it kept her from brushing up against him. She did not want her skin contacting his in any way-- not until she figured out how to control the effects his power had over her.
While platters of rare to medium roasted meats were brought in, Samanthŕa surveyed her sisters. They seemed so infatuated with the men at their sides. This worried her. If her dreams of Daŕēus were not a Vii’s normal dreams, foretelling of her Awakener, then perhaps it was the same for her sisters. Would they confuse the power of these warriors, which easily intoxicated them, with the very different but similar power and intoxication of their true Awakeners?
Chymeŕah began to chatter away from the head of the table. “Daŕēus, my darkest darling has such a curious mind. Would you be offended if she were to drive you mad with questions?”
Samanthŕa looked sharply at her mother. She gave her a barren expression when Daŕēus answered. “Nothing she could do would offend me. After all, it is good for the High Priestess to have so many questions. Nothing should be kept from her.”
If he was planning on catching her complete attention by saying all the right things, he was victorious. Samanthŕa forgot any reason she had for not looking at him, and her mother’s blatant way of entrapping her. She snapped her head around quickly, displaying the shock his statement gave.
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