*Jean Grey*
Night Triumphant
Sylvia Edelstein
Khusha (Nightshade Manor, Subterranean Baths -> Changing Room)
“Er, you, soldier – Raleigh, I believe Sylvia called you? Is that your name?” the princess began, snapping Raleigh out of his daze. Instead of looking directly at the princess however, the soldier's eyes fell on Sylvia instead, seemingly giving her an appraising look - one which held more than a note of recognition.
Of course he does, she thought. She recognized him all the same. It was difficult to forget being interrogated for hours in the dim, dank underground dungeons, even after seven years. She had only been seventeen years old after all - barely an adult - and she didn't know any better. Of course she wasn't involved in any conspiracy, and of course, she hadn't been hired as an assassin by a member of the Lochesterian court. She was but a poor teenager from the streets, a sorry excuse of a thief disguised in stardust and glass, who was simply ordered to infiltrate King Siegfried's masquerade ball and eliminate a noble who failed to pay a debt of some sort.
Raleigh had been her interrogator, a magical human who looked to be rather new to the job himself, judging from the way he carried himself - as dignified as he could, but with a hint of uncertainty that the other guards did not possess. He was younger than the rest of them too, not much older than herself. Now, sexually abusive, he was not, but that didn't mean she was spared from his agonizing interrogation methods. He had magically probed into her mind and squeezed as much information as he could, trying to find something that wasn't there, and it hurt.
Oh, how she resisted, though her silver shackles burned and her wounds bled, even as her head painfully seared through the night and threatened to break after being questioned and probed. She wasn't going to give in to any guard, be it confessing to crimes that she wasn't responsible for - being a werewolf was hardly a crime after all - or surrendering herself to them. And that was what she did, which earned her three transfers over the thirteen days she was imprisoned, as well as crueler treatment from almost all the guards.
Get over your pride, you're going to be executed anyway. Might as well make your life less difficult before the time comes, beast. He had told her as he passed her by. Never once raising a hand, but never ridding his voice of its venom.
In the end, she had been released, and he had been the one to free her from her shackles as Josef spoke to her about why she was being released to begin with. This time, she didn't look into Raleigh's eyes. She had been in shock that she was being released to begin with. As far as she knew, nobody ever left Lochester's dungeons alive. Part of her perhaps, thought that it was a cruel joke and that Raleigh would've pulled at the strings of her mind to force her back in. But as Josef led her out the secret passageway that would bring her to freedom...there was no pain...no searing sensation.
"Yes, Your Highness. It is." Raleigh's attention shifted towards the princess after more than a few moments of silence, confirming his identity. Sylvia took the time to study him further. His eyes had not changed, even after all those years, cold, hard and belonging to someone who would've been much much older than his thirties. Yet, there was something else tucked deep within them...something more...melancholic, if that was the right word to describe them.
“Under what circumstances did you come to be lying half-dead in the middle of the Khusian desert, if what you say is true, and there are no other soldiers? You owe me – us – your life, so I suggest you speak honestly.” The princess pressed on. At this, Raleigh tensed for a moment, before replying.
"I let live a few...enemies I was told to kill. A grave offense, likened to treason. I fled to save my life," he spoke politely but curtly, the way he'd been taught to. "I lost the pursuers, but ended up lost myself."
Enemies. Sylvia knew what he meant. Werewolves. Vampires. Magical humans. He didn't have to sanitize his words. Everyone in Lochester was taught to shun and despise the "other" after all, for the most pointless reasons. After all, non-magical humans were just as capable of unnecessary killing as any other race. Those who were the "other" were taught to hate themselves...taught to believe they deserved to suffer and die in order to avoid tainting Lochester.
"It is as you say; I owe my life to you. Do with it as you will. Should you end it, worry not; no one will mourn me - nor come avenge me. Lochester holds no more love for me than it does for you." He addressed everyone.
"Lochestrian or not, I would not kill you for that. Besides, I helped keep you alive for this long, it would be a shame if that were to be for nought." Lyn spoke first, from where she was resting against the edge of the pool. Her voice was steady. Reassuring. Sylvia knew that Lyn was not one to take words lightly.
The princess took longer, before voicing her stand.
“No, we have no reason to bring your life to a premature conclusion. But I will not set you free. Your skills are useful to us, and I see no other way to prove that your words are true other than to allow you to assist us. If you flee, I would run the risk of you returning with an army, so you are all ordered to eliminate him should he attempt it. Am I understood?” She directed this statement to everyone. Sylvia put her glass down and gave a thumbs-up.
Gwen then mused about whether or not Lochester thought so low of her, to which Emerick asked if it really mattered, and if it would really change anything.
"If the Lochesterian court think so low of you, then they're fucking wrong. If they had half a brain and had to choose anyone to look down on, they have to take a look at themselves first. Backwards, cowardly bastards, they are..." Sylvia snarled, though her tone was a little less harsh, as Gwen stepped out of the bath. She looked at Raleigh again, at the broken man who sat across her. She knew he was a magical human. An "other", just like herself. Someone who was certainly taught to look down on himself, as well as vampires and werewolves from a young age, and to not question the laws of the kingdom.
"Raleigh, are these...enemies you speak of....your enemies because they truly harmed you, or are they your enemies only because you were taught by some fucking bastards to believe that they are the monsters? Think for yourself, idiot! Are these bastards always right? Are they your gods? Who are the real monsters? Surely there's a brain in that skull of yours." She spoke, her voice not once wavering, and her tone stark. Oh, how she despised him for what he did to her years ago, yet she despised Lochesterian laws more, with a burning passion. How much of him was truly the cold-hearted interrogator, and how much of him was a product of his environment, that remained to be seen.
Minutes later, after Dimmy stepped out of the bath, Sylvia followed suit. She got up and stepped out of the bath, squeezing the excess water from her midnight hair and pulling it up, exposing her back, a pair of tattooed dragon wings accentuating her long-healed scars. She dried off, before proceeding to put on one of the silk robes set out for them to use. The fabric was softer than anything she ever wore. She tied it loosely, not being one who cared much for propriety, and retrieved her headpiece, sighing with relief that it hadn't disappeared.
“If you will all follow us, we have prepared a few options for each of you to wear to court.” A maid addressed the group. Dimmy thanked her, before leading everyone back upstairs to a pair of rooms along the same hall, the maid ushering the women into one room, and the butler guiding the men into another. Sylvia followed the maid.
Sylvia took in this new room. It was rather identical to the bedroom they'd initially gone to, but there was more open space. There were armoires and vanities along the side walls, and a pair of changing screens, as well as a small table stood along the back. The vanities each had an assortment of perfumes and colognes, hair care items, make-up, and jewellery. A fancy carpet was rolled out in the middle of the room, atop which stood a sextuplet of mannequins, paired off, with each pair displaying a couple outfits in the closest size of one of the room's occupants that could be found. None of the clothes were the clothes on their backs when they had arrived, and when Sylvia's eyes fell on the tallest pair of mannequins in the room, all she could say was fuck.
Both mannequins bore dresses in the Khushan style, one was gold, and the other was black. She immediately made her way towards the black one and appraised it. True to the Khushan style, it was made of lightweight silk, with a low neckline and a lower back. It had a split front, revealing a sheer black underskirt that would expose the wearer's legs.
Now, Sylvia had no problems showing skin. Quite the contrary. What bothered her though, was the fact that she had to wear a dress in particular. Memories of the masquerade ball once again came back. She had been clothed in a gown that was almost literally stardust, and in the present, she could not help but run her hand over the black dress over and over, to feel if the silk fabric was real. Wasn't there another alternative? Couldn't she wear a man's outfit instead?
"I really should've gone and changed in the lads' room...fuck propriety, they don't have to wear damn dresses..." she groaned, as she slipped the black dress off the mannequin and pulled it on reluctantly. Her large breasts threatened to spill out of the low neckline, but that was the least of her concerns. She would gladly go shirtless if it meant not wearing a dress.
Looking towards her assigned vanity, she noticed an array of gold and silver jewellery and accessories laid out for her to use. Being a werewolf, she didn't exactly have a choice. She put on a set of golden body chains over her dress, followed by a wide golden belt. She put on golden earrings, before fastening the crimson cloak that came with the dress over one shoulder.
"Excuse me...I'll have to take that off you. It isn't...presentable." The maid chirped and before Sylvia could react, the maid's hand flew towards her nose, and plucked off her iron nose ring.
"Arrghh...hey! What the hell?!" Sylvia exclaimed in protest as she briefly rubbed her sore nose. She reached out for her nose ring, growling as her lupine form threatened to surface. As her other arm swung backward, her headpiece, which she had set atop the vanity, was knocked down. As it touched the floor, the dark metal flashed silver for a brief moment, though she did not notice.
Khusha (Nightshade Manor, Subterranean Baths -> Changing Room)
“Er, you, soldier – Raleigh, I believe Sylvia called you? Is that your name?” the princess began, snapping Raleigh out of his daze. Instead of looking directly at the princess however, the soldier's eyes fell on Sylvia instead, seemingly giving her an appraising look - one which held more than a note of recognition.
Of course he does, she thought. She recognized him all the same. It was difficult to forget being interrogated for hours in the dim, dank underground dungeons, even after seven years. She had only been seventeen years old after all - barely an adult - and she didn't know any better. Of course she wasn't involved in any conspiracy, and of course, she hadn't been hired as an assassin by a member of the Lochesterian court. She was but a poor teenager from the streets, a sorry excuse of a thief disguised in stardust and glass, who was simply ordered to infiltrate King Siegfried's masquerade ball and eliminate a noble who failed to pay a debt of some sort.
Raleigh had been her interrogator, a magical human who looked to be rather new to the job himself, judging from the way he carried himself - as dignified as he could, but with a hint of uncertainty that the other guards did not possess. He was younger than the rest of them too, not much older than herself. Now, sexually abusive, he was not, but that didn't mean she was spared from his agonizing interrogation methods. He had magically probed into her mind and squeezed as much information as he could, trying to find something that wasn't there, and it hurt.
Oh, how she resisted, though her silver shackles burned and her wounds bled, even as her head painfully seared through the night and threatened to break after being questioned and probed. She wasn't going to give in to any guard, be it confessing to crimes that she wasn't responsible for - being a werewolf was hardly a crime after all - or surrendering herself to them. And that was what she did, which earned her three transfers over the thirteen days she was imprisoned, as well as crueler treatment from almost all the guards.
Get over your pride, you're going to be executed anyway. Might as well make your life less difficult before the time comes, beast. He had told her as he passed her by. Never once raising a hand, but never ridding his voice of its venom.
In the end, she had been released, and he had been the one to free her from her shackles as Josef spoke to her about why she was being released to begin with. This time, she didn't look into Raleigh's eyes. She had been in shock that she was being released to begin with. As far as she knew, nobody ever left Lochester's dungeons alive. Part of her perhaps, thought that it was a cruel joke and that Raleigh would've pulled at the strings of her mind to force her back in. But as Josef led her out the secret passageway that would bring her to freedom...there was no pain...no searing sensation.
"Yes, Your Highness. It is." Raleigh's attention shifted towards the princess after more than a few moments of silence, confirming his identity. Sylvia took the time to study him further. His eyes had not changed, even after all those years, cold, hard and belonging to someone who would've been much much older than his thirties. Yet, there was something else tucked deep within them...something more...melancholic, if that was the right word to describe them.
“Under what circumstances did you come to be lying half-dead in the middle of the Khusian desert, if what you say is true, and there are no other soldiers? You owe me – us – your life, so I suggest you speak honestly.” The princess pressed on. At this, Raleigh tensed for a moment, before replying.
"I let live a few...enemies I was told to kill. A grave offense, likened to treason. I fled to save my life," he spoke politely but curtly, the way he'd been taught to. "I lost the pursuers, but ended up lost myself."
Enemies. Sylvia knew what he meant. Werewolves. Vampires. Magical humans. He didn't have to sanitize his words. Everyone in Lochester was taught to shun and despise the "other" after all, for the most pointless reasons. After all, non-magical humans were just as capable of unnecessary killing as any other race. Those who were the "other" were taught to hate themselves...taught to believe they deserved to suffer and die in order to avoid tainting Lochester.
"It is as you say; I owe my life to you. Do with it as you will. Should you end it, worry not; no one will mourn me - nor come avenge me. Lochester holds no more love for me than it does for you." He addressed everyone.
"Lochestrian or not, I would not kill you for that. Besides, I helped keep you alive for this long, it would be a shame if that were to be for nought." Lyn spoke first, from where she was resting against the edge of the pool. Her voice was steady. Reassuring. Sylvia knew that Lyn was not one to take words lightly.
The princess took longer, before voicing her stand.
“No, we have no reason to bring your life to a premature conclusion. But I will not set you free. Your skills are useful to us, and I see no other way to prove that your words are true other than to allow you to assist us. If you flee, I would run the risk of you returning with an army, so you are all ordered to eliminate him should he attempt it. Am I understood?” She directed this statement to everyone. Sylvia put her glass down and gave a thumbs-up.
Gwen then mused about whether or not Lochester thought so low of her, to which Emerick asked if it really mattered, and if it would really change anything.
"If the Lochesterian court think so low of you, then they're fucking wrong. If they had half a brain and had to choose anyone to look down on, they have to take a look at themselves first. Backwards, cowardly bastards, they are..." Sylvia snarled, though her tone was a little less harsh, as Gwen stepped out of the bath. She looked at Raleigh again, at the broken man who sat across her. She knew he was a magical human. An "other", just like herself. Someone who was certainly taught to look down on himself, as well as vampires and werewolves from a young age, and to not question the laws of the kingdom.
"Raleigh, are these...enemies you speak of....your enemies because they truly harmed you, or are they your enemies only because you were taught by some fucking bastards to believe that they are the monsters? Think for yourself, idiot! Are these bastards always right? Are they your gods? Who are the real monsters? Surely there's a brain in that skull of yours." She spoke, her voice not once wavering, and her tone stark. Oh, how she despised him for what he did to her years ago, yet she despised Lochesterian laws more, with a burning passion. How much of him was truly the cold-hearted interrogator, and how much of him was a product of his environment, that remained to be seen.
Minutes later, after Dimmy stepped out of the bath, Sylvia followed suit. She got up and stepped out of the bath, squeezing the excess water from her midnight hair and pulling it up, exposing her back, a pair of tattooed dragon wings accentuating her long-healed scars. She dried off, before proceeding to put on one of the silk robes set out for them to use. The fabric was softer than anything she ever wore. She tied it loosely, not being one who cared much for propriety, and retrieved her headpiece, sighing with relief that it hadn't disappeared.
“If you will all follow us, we have prepared a few options for each of you to wear to court.” A maid addressed the group. Dimmy thanked her, before leading everyone back upstairs to a pair of rooms along the same hall, the maid ushering the women into one room, and the butler guiding the men into another. Sylvia followed the maid.
Sylvia took in this new room. It was rather identical to the bedroom they'd initially gone to, but there was more open space. There were armoires and vanities along the side walls, and a pair of changing screens, as well as a small table stood along the back. The vanities each had an assortment of perfumes and colognes, hair care items, make-up, and jewellery. A fancy carpet was rolled out in the middle of the room, atop which stood a sextuplet of mannequins, paired off, with each pair displaying a couple outfits in the closest size of one of the room's occupants that could be found. None of the clothes were the clothes on their backs when they had arrived, and when Sylvia's eyes fell on the tallest pair of mannequins in the room, all she could say was fuck.
Both mannequins bore dresses in the Khushan style, one was gold, and the other was black. She immediately made her way towards the black one and appraised it. True to the Khushan style, it was made of lightweight silk, with a low neckline and a lower back. It had a split front, revealing a sheer black underskirt that would expose the wearer's legs.
Now, Sylvia had no problems showing skin. Quite the contrary. What bothered her though, was the fact that she had to wear a dress in particular. Memories of the masquerade ball once again came back. She had been clothed in a gown that was almost literally stardust, and in the present, she could not help but run her hand over the black dress over and over, to feel if the silk fabric was real. Wasn't there another alternative? Couldn't she wear a man's outfit instead?
"I really should've gone and changed in the lads' room...fuck propriety, they don't have to wear damn dresses..." she groaned, as she slipped the black dress off the mannequin and pulled it on reluctantly. Her large breasts threatened to spill out of the low neckline, but that was the least of her concerns. She would gladly go shirtless if it meant not wearing a dress.
Looking towards her assigned vanity, she noticed an array of gold and silver jewellery and accessories laid out for her to use. Being a werewolf, she didn't exactly have a choice. She put on a set of golden body chains over her dress, followed by a wide golden belt. She put on golden earrings, before fastening the crimson cloak that came with the dress over one shoulder.
"Excuse me...I'll have to take that off you. It isn't...presentable." The maid chirped and before Sylvia could react, the maid's hand flew towards her nose, and plucked off her iron nose ring.
"Arrghh...hey! What the hell?!" Sylvia exclaimed in protest as she briefly rubbed her sore nose. She reached out for her nose ring, growling as her lupine form threatened to surface. As her other arm swung backward, her headpiece, which she had set atop the vanity, was knocked down. As it touched the floor, the dark metal flashed silver for a brief moment, though she did not notice.