Quote from Mae on January 25, 2020, 10:29 pm

Ever mindful, lest someone enter the foyer and discover her, Diane studied the map carefully. She speculated over the hidden implications of the unmarked circle of mountains, and wondered secretly. Then she folded the pages and meticulously inserted them back into their place in the desk. She stood to leave, quietly pulled the tassel on the elegant desk lamp, and the room went black. Through the cracked door, she perceived the evening light kept out by a dense blue curtain in the foyer. Before she reached the doorway, however, Diane noticed an irregularity in the shape of the shadows there. She stopped. She saw a pair of discreet aluminum discs held aloft beside the curtain, and her heart froze. It was a pair of eyes.

"Hello, Diane." A voice came suddenly. Then the shadow of the gentleman concealed by the curtain moved forward. Diane stepped back into the dark office. The door was closed behind the two of them.

******

When the light turned on, it revealed no other presence more probable and foreboding than the esteemed Beta Balthazar Baltronan. How different he looked now, in the dim yellow light leaking through the lampshade than under yesterday's golden sun. His eyes were sharper, but unnaturally so; glinting in unearthly silvery-green hues. Age seemed added on his regal prime as with each crease and chiseled feature was harbored a deep black shadow.

"I did not see you at the Ambridge residence this morning." The gentleman said, sitting down to his desk.

"No, father." Diane replied. She watched him keenly and neither seated herself nor said anything more. To her regret, he opened the selfsame drawer where she a moment ago concealed her hidden interest, and produced the selfsame yellow pages.

"Your presence would've brought them comfort," he said as he lay the folded papers under the lampshade. Diane met his eyes uncomfortably as his gaze glinted like steel under the shadow of his brow.
"They requested that you speak at the funeral and I declined on your behalf." He continued, saying nothing yet of the pages. "They understood you would need time to grieve, as do we all. Nonetheless, I told them you would be honored to write a memorandum to be read at the Full Moon Gathering."

"Father..." Diane said slowly, unable to take her eyes from the yellow pages on the table. Her chin raised ever so slightly. "I cannot fathom what I should write for the occasion. Surely, no one lives forever, and potential unrealized is better never to have existed at all."

Mister Baltronan watched her eyes keenly.
"I am certain you will arrive at something." He said.

Now, at last, Diane's eyes came up, cold and ungenerous; emotion wanting like the absence of blood when fresh meat is cut.
"If it was cause for ceremony," she said unkindly, "Amos might've considered a more ceremonial way to die. I shall not honor a corpse at the bottom of a bridge."

Mister Betine was silent a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly in the dark.
"You will have time to mourn your friend before the full moon." He said. "By then, I trust you will have mastered your grief enough to produce a word of comfort to one of our most prestigious families."

Diane turned her eyes away and stared at the dark door vehemently. Her slender pale fingers curled under white knuckles. She heard the pages on the desk unfolding. Then the gentle, foreboding voice of her father say, "What were you looking for, Diana?"
Diane stared at the door a moment longer before she turned her eyes back to him. Elegance and grace returned to her demeanor. She would not dare bring to light that secret thing for which she searched, but in this moment she need not think long to pluck a red herring from water.

"How long shall they get away with it?" Diane said coldly. "- The blood of our people. How long shall they drink it and go unpunished?"

"We have blood enough to spare," said her father in unfeeling tone.

Yet, Diane pressed her case. "Such hunters have existed for countless generations. Their knowledge is ancient but their tools are modern. Has no one slaughtered them to extinction? What is it that has preserved them? Is it mercy for their children that saved them?"

"Surely not." Balthazar said calmly, producing an elegant box of cigars from his desk. "Hervius lacks many years to have obtained training from an experienced predecessor. He is no more than an apprentice to that craft, unrelated to their art by blood. It is not a family vendetta."

"All the more reason to have it ended once and for all."

"On the contrary," Mister Betine said, putting his cigar to his mouth. "All things must be preyed upon. It orders a balance in nature."

Diane's wrath cooled like hot iron doused in water, and she narrowed her eyes to draw upon her father's consideration.
"Shall that balance come at such personal cost?" She said coolly.

Mister Betine appeared unmoved as he brought his cigar down to rest between his first two fingers.
"In all the generations of our forefathers," he said solemnly,"This generation alone has seen my bloodline twice in its prime. As the moon renews itself each month, so too has the Svalnaglas seen but one of our bloodline alive at any time. But in this generation, I am renewed. You are my Blue Moon Diana; the Blue Moon of the Baltronan family."

Balthazar reached out and turned off the light. As the room turned black, Diane heard his voice in the darkness.
"Leave the Varnished Hills alone, Diana. There is nothing for you there. Do not pursue Hervius." Diane felt her father's hand on her shoulder. His touch rose from thence up her slender neck and rested on her cold cheek. "If the blood of our people weighs on your mind, perhaps you will consider what words you can offer for poor Abdaerus."

- Closed -

When the light turned on, it revealed no other presence more probable and foreboding than the esteemed Beta Balthazar Baltronan. How different he looked now, in the dim yellow light leaking through the lampshade than under yesterday's golden sun. His eyes were sharper, but unnaturally so; glinting in unearthly silvery-green hues. Age seemed added on his regal prime as with each crease and chiseled feature was harbored a deep black shadow.

"I did not see you at the Ambridge residence this morning." The gentleman said, sitting down to his desk.

"No, father." Diane replied. She watched him keenly and neither seated herself nor said anything more. To her regret, he opened the selfsame drawer where she a moment ago concealed her hidden interest, and produced the selfsame yellow pages.

"Your presence would've brought them comfort," he said as he lay the folded papers under the lampshade. Diane met his eyes uncomfortably as his gaze glinted like steel under the shadow of his brow.
"They requested that you speak at the funeral and I declined on your behalf." He continued, saying nothing yet of the pages. "They understood you would need time to grieve, as do we all. Nonetheless, I told them you would be honored to write a memorandum to be read at the Full Moon Gathering."

"Father..." Diane said slowly, unable to take her eyes from the yellow pages on the table. Her chin raised ever so slightly. "I cannot fathom what I should write for the occasion. Surely, no one lives forever, and potential unrealized is better never to have existed at all."

Mister Baltronan watched her eyes keenly.
"I am certain you will arrive at something." He said.

Now, at last, Diane's eyes came up, cold and ungenerous; emotion wanting like the absence of blood when fresh meat is cut.
"If it was cause for ceremony," she said unkindly, "Amos might've considered a more ceremonial way to die. I shall not honor a corpse at the bottom of a bridge."

Mister Betine was silent a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly in the dark.
"You will have time to mourn your friend before the full moon." He said. "By then, I trust you will have mastered your grief enough to produce a word of comfort to one of our most prestigious families."

Diane turned her eyes away and stared at the dark door vehemently. Her slender pale fingers curled under white knuckles. She heard the pages on the desk unfolding. Then the gentle, foreboding voice of her father say, "What were you looking for, Diana?"
Diane stared at the door a moment longer before she turned her eyes back to him. Elegance and grace returned to her demeanor. She would not dare bring to light that secret thing for which she searched, but in this moment she need not think long to pluck a red herring from water.

"How long shall they get away with it?" Diane said coldly. "- The blood of our people. How long shall they drink it and go unpunished?"

"We have blood enough to spare," said her father in unfeeling tone.

Yet, Diane pressed her case. "Such hunters have existed for countless generations. Their knowledge is ancient but their tools are modern. Has no one slaughtered them to extinction? What is it that has preserved them? Is it mercy for their children that saved them?"

"Surely not." Balthazar said calmly, producing an elegant box of cigars from his desk. "Hervius lacks many years to have obtained training from an experienced predecessor. He is no more than an apprentice to that craft, unrelated to their art by blood. It is not a family vendetta."

"All the more reason to have it ended once and for all."

"On the contrary," Mister Betine said, putting his cigar to his mouth. "All things must be preyed upon. It orders a balance in nature."

Diane's wrath cooled like hot iron doused in water, and she narrowed her eyes to draw upon her father's consideration.
"Shall that balance come at such personal cost?" She said coolly.

Mister Betine appeared unmoved as he brought his cigar down to rest between his first two fingers.
"In all the generations of our forefathers," he said solemnly,"This generation alone has seen my bloodline twice in its prime. As the moon renews itself each month, so too has the Svalnaglas seen but one of our bloodline alive at any time. But in this generation, I am renewed. You are my Blue Moon Diana; the Blue Moon of the Baltronan family."

Balthazar reached out and turned off the light. As the room turned black, Diane heard his voice in the darkness.
"Leave the Varnished Hills alone, Diana. There is nothing for you there. Do not pursue Hervius." Diane felt her father's hand on her shoulder. His touch rose from thence up her slender neck and rested on her cold cheek. "If the blood of our people weighs on your mind, perhaps you will consider what words you can offer for poor Abdaerus."

- Closed -