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Mar. 19th, 2011 01:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alexanderwhiteThey say absence makes the heart grow fonder. I don't know who the hell they were missing, but I had a pretty good idea it wasn't Patricia Stevens. I knew she'd left because she had conceived, and I didn't feel the need to become the murderer I never was. I am ancient, but not a single baby's life has been taken by me, and I wasn't going to start with my own offspring.
Nine months is a long fucking time to plan vengeance, though, so when I was done planning, I started sending out armies to look for her. Most were situated in three parts of the country, though they were spread out in a net all over the world. It didn't take long for me to hear that she had settled back into Louisiana, just north of New Orleans. I told my armies to fall back into line and they did, and sent a lucky few to look after the incubator of my child. "The moment she delivers the child, tell me," I told my surrogate eyes, and went back to business as usual.
The night finally came that the shadowy figure I'd sent to look after my child came to my side and whispered into my ear that a boy had been born. I dismissed the shade, and took to my female form. It was far easier to get into public places with minor restrictions as a young lady, and they didn't even ask a question after 'do you know the mother?' My answer was, "Oh, we are very close."
They walked me past the nursery and in one little bed, nested into thin blue blankets, was a tiny baby with black sclera and red irises, quietly sucking his thumb. On the name card of the crib, it read, simply, 'Remy'. I couldn't help but feel pride in that moment as she led me to Patricia's room. "She may be resting now, but you're free to visit." That said, the nurse walked away. With no eyes on me, I shifted back to my masculine form, and stepped silently in.
Patricia looked up at the movement, and her eyes went wide. "Well you got here just a few hours late, Al," she snipped, "I gave birth to him already. La Diable Blanc is already alive."
"I saw," I murmured, "And it's such a shame that he'll be an orphan, but the prophecy said nothing about his upbringing." That said, I took her wrist and transported her to eastern France, where the books had been written hundreds of years ago. She clung to me as I walked her through the rubble and remains of what once was a blooming trade town, laid to waste by its founders' greed and inner battles. "This was the home of the Guild, at the time of the writing of those books you so praise as truth. Look at it now," I whispered into her ear, "All things end, Patricia, all things eventually crumble. You have brought a life into the world, saddled already with a great responsibility, but to what end? The reformation of the single Guild may come, but it too will eventually crumble."
She was weak from labor and so she dropped into the soft grass that once had been the floor of a building. She wept into her hands. "Oh, I really hope you're crying for his sake, and not for yours," I muttered, "Because if you aren't, you are truly the worst kind of narcissist." I crouched before her and looked straight into her wet, sad eyes. "Despite what you've done to me, despite all the lies and deception, I still love you. And despite my love for you, you have some dues to pay. You made me human, you took my strength, my power, my drive to live." That said, I picked her up easily over my shoulder and carried her to the only wall left standing in the ruins of the town, where I had already affixed shackles. I slipped them onto her and whispered to her, gentle as a breeze, "Every thing I take from you tonight has a reason to be taken." The shackles were largely unnecessary for as weak as she was from giving birth, but I had underestimated her strength in the past, and didn't wish to cause any more trouble for myself.
I put my hand over her eyes, and rendered her blind. It was painless. "You will never see the evils you once saw fit to destroy coming for you in the night." And then I took her left arm into my hand and withered it, as well as her right leg, and her right hand. "You won't be able to defend yourself or run away," I murmured, and then I touched her lips, gently at first, before pressing my fingers into her mouth to touch her tongue, which I rendered unable to form the shapes necessary for speech. "And you will never speak of this again. I'm leaving you alive, Patricia," I whispered, "because should our son ever wish to find his true parents, he won't find me, and he deserves to know that at least you lived through it."
That said, I unchained her, and sent her to the steps of a sanitarium in northern Ireland. It was there that she still lives, mute and powerless, half the being she was when I met her. She's very old now - most hunters live to be exceptionally old, if they aren't killed in the line of duty - but I mostly figure it's because she's still waiting for her son to find her.
Nine months is a long fucking time to plan vengeance, though, so when I was done planning, I started sending out armies to look for her. Most were situated in three parts of the country, though they were spread out in a net all over the world. It didn't take long for me to hear that she had settled back into Louisiana, just north of New Orleans. I told my armies to fall back into line and they did, and sent a lucky few to look after the incubator of my child. "The moment she delivers the child, tell me," I told my surrogate eyes, and went back to business as usual.
The night finally came that the shadowy figure I'd sent to look after my child came to my side and whispered into my ear that a boy had been born. I dismissed the shade, and took to my female form. It was far easier to get into public places with minor restrictions as a young lady, and they didn't even ask a question after 'do you know the mother?' My answer was, "Oh, we are very close."
They walked me past the nursery and in one little bed, nested into thin blue blankets, was a tiny baby with black sclera and red irises, quietly sucking his thumb. On the name card of the crib, it read, simply, 'Remy'. I couldn't help but feel pride in that moment as she led me to Patricia's room. "She may be resting now, but you're free to visit." That said, the nurse walked away. With no eyes on me, I shifted back to my masculine form, and stepped silently in.
Patricia looked up at the movement, and her eyes went wide. "Well you got here just a few hours late, Al," she snipped, "I gave birth to him already. La Diable Blanc is already alive."
"I saw," I murmured, "And it's such a shame that he'll be an orphan, but the prophecy said nothing about his upbringing." That said, I took her wrist and transported her to eastern France, where the books had been written hundreds of years ago. She clung to me as I walked her through the rubble and remains of what once was a blooming trade town, laid to waste by its founders' greed and inner battles. "This was the home of the Guild, at the time of the writing of those books you so praise as truth. Look at it now," I whispered into her ear, "All things end, Patricia, all things eventually crumble. You have brought a life into the world, saddled already with a great responsibility, but to what end? The reformation of the single Guild may come, but it too will eventually crumble."
She was weak from labor and so she dropped into the soft grass that once had been the floor of a building. She wept into her hands. "Oh, I really hope you're crying for his sake, and not for yours," I muttered, "Because if you aren't, you are truly the worst kind of narcissist." I crouched before her and looked straight into her wet, sad eyes. "Despite what you've done to me, despite all the lies and deception, I still love you. And despite my love for you, you have some dues to pay. You made me human, you took my strength, my power, my drive to live." That said, I picked her up easily over my shoulder and carried her to the only wall left standing in the ruins of the town, where I had already affixed shackles. I slipped them onto her and whispered to her, gentle as a breeze, "Every thing I take from you tonight has a reason to be taken." The shackles were largely unnecessary for as weak as she was from giving birth, but I had underestimated her strength in the past, and didn't wish to cause any more trouble for myself.
I put my hand over her eyes, and rendered her blind. It was painless. "You will never see the evils you once saw fit to destroy coming for you in the night." And then I took her left arm into my hand and withered it, as well as her right leg, and her right hand. "You won't be able to defend yourself or run away," I murmured, and then I touched her lips, gently at first, before pressing my fingers into her mouth to touch her tongue, which I rendered unable to form the shapes necessary for speech. "And you will never speak of this again. I'm leaving you alive, Patricia," I whispered, "because should our son ever wish to find his true parents, he won't find me, and he deserves to know that at least you lived through it."
That said, I unchained her, and sent her to the steps of a sanitarium in northern Ireland. It was there that she still lives, mute and powerless, half the being she was when I met her. She's very old now - most hunters live to be exceptionally old, if they aren't killed in the line of duty - but I mostly figure it's because she's still waiting for her son to find her.
