The Twilit Mists
path seems to go on forever.
Surprisingly, the further Morgan
gets into the woods, the brighter it gets
-- eventually, the entire forest is the
glowing gold of twilight. At first, she
expected the light that filtered through
the thick, swirling mists to burn her but
it doesn't, only further confirming her
suspicion that she's not in California
anymore. She's not even sure she's
on earth at this
point... But where else could she be?
take long, however, for Morgan to begin
to realize that maybe eating the hag
wasn't the best decision. The blood sits
uneasily in her stomach, refusing to be
absorbed, refusing to give her the
energy she needs to keep going... Every
now and again, she has to stop, leaning
against a tree to keep from falling over
as the world suddenly begins spinning.
out across her brow and she rips the
headband off, letting it flutter to the
ground. In the thirty years that she's
been a vampire, she's never felt sick
like this... Morgan didn't even think
she could get sick
anymore, but the roiling in her stomach
and the growing fever disproves that
forward, feeling like the woods
just go on forever. The longer she walks,
the worse the fever gets. Her
wounds throb and ache with every
heartbeat. The world around her is blurry
and distorted. Morgan comes to a
stop, swaying slightly.
over her in waves and bile rises up in
to keep the blood down, arguing with her
body -- if she throws up now, she'll have
even less blood to heal the wounds...but
the blood she took from the hag only
seems to be making it worse.
forward, falling to her hands and knees
in a large clearing. She can't tell if
the forest is warmer her or if it's the
fever burning in her veins. Thick, syrupy
black blood splatters onto the
leaf-strewn ground, smelling even worse
than it had tasted going down. The
absolutely vile stench is enough to make
her throw up again and again until her
stomach is empty and she's dry-heaving.
burns, her body burns. She can feel
the tightness in her veins and the world
is silent. No breath, no heartbeat. But
then there's not any blood in her body
for her heart to pump... A low growl
leaves her lips and the world turns red.
Her mind is
bent on only one thought: blood. Blood
now. All the blood. She straightens up,
no longer in control of her thoughts and
actions as pure blood lust takes over.
strain for the sound of a heartbeat
-- there are small, animal heartbeats
skittering through the wood, but they
don't catch her beast's attention,
they're not enough.
to Morgan, someone has noticed her
presence in the woods. A young woman with
wide blue eyes and long hair the color of
the sunset cascading down her back
strides through the forest.
something strange in the trees-- a kind
of presence she had never noticed
before... and for this particular Fae,
that's incredibly interesting. She's
walked the Twilit Woods of Spring all her
life, intimately connected to all the
growing things that call it home.
whisper to her -- there's someone in
the woods. Someone strange.
flowers sing, dead but
alive, alive but dead, what
a strange creature!
lightly through the trees, not needing a
path to make her way as they lift their
roots so she can pass with ease. Its not
a human, she can tell that much.
The Fae sees
a clearing up ahead and hears...oh dear.
It sounds like someone getting very sick.
She frowns and hurries into the clearing.
Her eyes go
wide when she catches sight of the
mysterious presence. It's a woman!
A beautiful woman with long, curly red
hair and unbelievably pale white skin.
runs to the woman as she stands,
black liquid running down her chin,
her forehead shiny and wet with
sweat. "Are you all right?"
you all right?"
barely hear the words over the sound of
its owner's heart pounding in her ears.
She looks at the girl but doesn't truly
see her -- she only sees the throbbing
veins in the girl's neck, the warm flush
of her skin -- how alive she is. The
smell of her blood floods Morgan's
senses. Somehow both sweet and salty, it
smells like sugared violets, sunlight and
tender green leaves...
at the back of her throat, her entire
body tenses, preparing for the
hunt. She growls, her fangs extended
fully -- sharp and nearly an inch long.
The girl screams and turns to run but in
an instant, Morgan is in front of her
again. Her inner predator is the one
holding the reins now, the sweet woman
who hated the idea of hurting the mortals
whose blood she needed to survive is gone
-- at least until her veins are filled
stumbles backward, her eyes wide with
sudden fear. She opens her mouth to say
something, but whatever it is, the beast
doesn't hear. In a flash, Morgan is on
top of her -- pinning her down with her
arms up over her head. The girl struggles
and screams. With a snarl, Morgan bites
down on the girl's throat.
stops instantaneously. Morgan moans into
the bite as blood rushes into her mouth
-- hot and sweet, so much unlike the
hag's that she had taken earlier. She
isn't sure if it's her starvation or
simply the blood itself but it's never
tasted this good. The liquid that courses
down her throat is like the earth
springing back to life after a long
winter, sunlight as it filters
through a blossoming tree in early
spring, the scent of flowers on a gentle
breeze. It's euphoric, it's utterly and
completely addicting. Even if she had the
presence of mind to stop, Morgan might
not want to.
the girl squirms -- not from fear or pain
but caught up in the bliss of Morgan's
venom. She moans softly.
them, vines begin to sprout from the
ground, all the tender green of budding
leaves. They sway back and forth, almost
showing some sort of intelligence...
confused as to how their mistress could
be in danger if she's enjoying herself...
the threshold of possible death nears,
however, they spring into action.
They curl around Morgan's wrists and yank
her hands up. A thicker one encircles her
waist, pulling her up off of the girl.
She struggles against their grip,
breathing hard, low growls reverberating
in her throat.
wants, no she needs more.
She couldn't possibly ever have enough of
that ambrosial vintage. The vines hold
her while the girl slowly regains
herself, sitting up and then
looking at Morgan with confusion rather
that's a hell of a way to say
hello!" She says, sounding
breathless. There's a lyrical
sounding accent to her voice,
somewhat similar to Irish, but
not quite. "A bit of a
rude one, too." Her tone is
playfully scolding, oddly.
the red filter on the world fades and
Morgan begins to become herself again.
Horror lingers in the back of her mind --
she could have killed this poor girl. Oh
God, why hadn't she been more careful?
so sorry!" She cries. The vines
are still holding her aloft but she
isn't struggling anymore.
looks her up and down and her
expression falls. She reaches out for
one of the scraps that remain of
Morgan's dress. "Oh..." she
her face away, suddenly ashamed.
Not because she's practically naked, but
because she's in such a downright feral
state...she might as well be one of those
sewer-dwelling animals that
call themselves vampires. Her wounds
throb, reminding her that she hasn't been
able to heal yet -- she's still quite
didn't mean to hurt you..."
Morgan says softly. "I
didn't...I didn't have a choice.
" The words sound flat and more
like an excuse than truth.
no, I'm fine. You on the other
hand..." the girl snaps her
fingers and the vines release Morgan,
setting her down gently on the grass.
She takes Morgan's hand, carefully
lifting her arm.
back suddenly, remembering the hag
and her jagged bite.
sighs heavily. "I won't bite,
let me see the wound."
extends her arm. The girl seems kind
enough -- her big blue eyes are
warm and welcoming... but the old woman
had seemed warm and welcoming as well.
I'm surprised you're moving around
with a wound like this..." The
girl gently runs her fingers along
the edge of the wound. "This is
poisoned... Come with me I'll take
you somewhere safe and we'll get this
healed. " she gives a warm
her heart flutter in her chest. The girl
is, admittedly, beautiful -- all soft
curves and rounded edges. Her long, rose
colored hair fades to a brilliant orange
at the tips, woven through with small
white flowers. The very tips of pointed
ears peek out from the strands that frame
her face. Her warm, ruddy skin speckled
with freckles -- the tops of her
shoulders, the bridge of her nose, across
her cheeks. Right now, she's dressed in a
long white dress made of a material so
fine it seems woven from spider silk. The
hem floats around her strong calves and
her feet are...surprisingly bare.
about her seems to draw Morgan in,
makes her want to be close.
"I...how do I know I can trust
smiles and shrugs her shoulders.
"I give you my word as the Heir
of Spring that as long as you do not
lift a finger against me, I shall not
lift a finger against you. " Her
voice takes on a strange tone -- like
she's reading an invocation or
casting some spell. There's Power in
warm shudder passes through Morgan. It
feels almost like a band of spring itself
has settled around her body and she knows
instantly that the words are binding.
I believe you." She doesn't
really have much of a choice, anyway.
Even though she's purged her body of
the hag's rotten blood, the
feverishness hasn't faded. She still
feels unstable, dizzy and weak. The
blood should have fixed that and
A sudden wave
of vertigo hits her and she swoons.
The vines dart out and stop her from
hitting the ground. The girl sighs,
concern clear on her face. "Come on,
we best hurry,
not again... Morgan thinks, leaving
the realm of consciousness yet again.