Punishment
ooc: set after this RP.
Angela wasn't certain why after she felt compelled to see her third husband. Losing her son, albeit figuratively, must have shaken her more than she wanted to believe possible. Up the stairs she walked and down the long hallways until she reached the anteroom they had renovated into a study.
She had sealed up the first study, her first husband's study and in it all traces and mementos of the man. Only legal documents pertaining to his existence remained, but even those she had locked away in a bank vault.
She didn't bother to knock, simply opening the door with a turn of the handle. Angela had barely opened her mouth to speak when her husband spoke up.
"Do you need something?" Her husband asked irritably, not bothering to look up from the desk covered with dossiers and folders.
Yes, she wanted to say, I need you to tell me that I did the right thing in saving my own neck at the cost of my son's.
Except she knew in doing so it would raise questions she never wanted to answer. And it would put her in a precarious situation.
There was no love between them, and for once Angela's alien heritage had nothing to do with it. Her third husband married her for her position and status in society. She married him for the convenience of his personality and her need to feed for she could only last so long without a permanent provider.
Her third husband was a man who would be mogul. Someone far too willing to sacrifice time spent with his new wife in order to reap a larger profit margin. He was more interested in the affairs happening within his company than he was in his own home. Though in all fairness, he hasn’t quite been accepted by the household members.
Not by the servants and lawyers, who considered Angela to be the true head of the estate.
Not by the son, who had displayed either polite disinterest or a distinct lack of concern.
Her hold over him was strong, and she could get him to do anything she wanted, make him say anything she wanted. But Angela wasn't looking for a canned response. She wasn't looking for lip-service or to have her own opinions parroted back to her. She wanted genuine affirmation, the kind her own parents would have given her, the kind her fellow pure-blood dranichians would have provided.
But she hasn't told anyone apart from her first husband and her son what she truly was. And so she answers her third husband "No, I just wanted to wish you goodnight."
He wasn't even listening, he hadn't stopped reading the dossier in his hands, "Yeah, sounds fantastic, sweetie. I have to finish analyzing the Taylor portfolio by tomorrow so could you-"
"Of course. I'll have someone bring you coffee." She re-dons the role of dutiful wife as she exits the room. Though the smile on her face is sweet, a trained eye could see it was strained.
Her third husband will never be able to tell the difference.
In fact, her third husband will never know what Angela really feels. He'll never be able to read her simply because he doesn't care to learn. So long as she lets him work in peace, he doesn't ask her anything too intimate and he lets her hold him whenever she wants.
That was their arrangement and he isn't interested in changing it.
Angela at first thought that would be enough. The man's energy was strong, his drive and determination to succeed in his ambitions was what she needed to sustain herself and sate her hunger. She could ignore the cold emptiness that came gnawing at her chest every now and again.
But that was when she still had someone she could publicly call son.
With that gone, Angela found herself clutching at her chest, manicured nails digging at the skin above her heart. Her face was ashen, eyes aglow behind closed lids as she fought to restrain the surge of guilt racking her mind.
Her son was gone and, like what happened with his father, she places the blame on her own shoulders.
Why hadn't she considered the possibility of other alien species living on Earth? Why hadn't it occurred to her to teach him about the risks of feeding off non-humans? Why hadn't she thought to warn her son about the dangers of having one's mana flow forcibly reversed?
She had grown overconfident, and careless and weak.
A fact that had made itself all the more evident when she couldn't eat him. Not even when she considered how his mere existence could put her secret in jeopardy. Not even when she thought of how wretched his life will be given his condition.
From here on out, Angela decided that since she did not act the way a dranichian mother would, she would have to live with the consequences the way a human mother would.
This was her punishment.
She will never admit this to anyone.
This was her penance.
Angela wasn't certain why after she felt compelled to see her third husband. Losing her son, albeit figuratively, must have shaken her more than she wanted to believe possible. Up the stairs she walked and down the long hallways until she reached the anteroom they had renovated into a study.
She had sealed up the first study, her first husband's study and in it all traces and mementos of the man. Only legal documents pertaining to his existence remained, but even those she had locked away in a bank vault.
She didn't bother to knock, simply opening the door with a turn of the handle. Angela had barely opened her mouth to speak when her husband spoke up.
"Do you need something?" Her husband asked irritably, not bothering to look up from the desk covered with dossiers and folders.
Yes, she wanted to say, I need you to tell me that I did the right thing in saving my own neck at the cost of my son's.
Except she knew in doing so it would raise questions she never wanted to answer. And it would put her in a precarious situation.
There was no love between them, and for once Angela's alien heritage had nothing to do with it. Her third husband married her for her position and status in society. She married him for the convenience of his personality and her need to feed for she could only last so long without a permanent provider.
Her third husband was a man who would be mogul. Someone far too willing to sacrifice time spent with his new wife in order to reap a larger profit margin. He was more interested in the affairs happening within his company than he was in his own home. Though in all fairness, he hasn’t quite been accepted by the household members.
Not by the servants and lawyers, who considered Angela to be the true head of the estate.
Not by the son, who had displayed either polite disinterest or a distinct lack of concern.
Her hold over him was strong, and she could get him to do anything she wanted, make him say anything she wanted. But Angela wasn't looking for a canned response. She wasn't looking for lip-service or to have her own opinions parroted back to her. She wanted genuine affirmation, the kind her own parents would have given her, the kind her fellow pure-blood dranichians would have provided.
But she hasn't told anyone apart from her first husband and her son what she truly was. And so she answers her third husband "No, I just wanted to wish you goodnight."
He wasn't even listening, he hadn't stopped reading the dossier in his hands, "Yeah, sounds fantastic, sweetie. I have to finish analyzing the Taylor portfolio by tomorrow so could you-"
"Of course. I'll have someone bring you coffee." She re-dons the role of dutiful wife as she exits the room. Though the smile on her face is sweet, a trained eye could see it was strained.
Her third husband will never be able to tell the difference.
In fact, her third husband will never know what Angela really feels. He'll never be able to read her simply because he doesn't care to learn. So long as she lets him work in peace, he doesn't ask her anything too intimate and he lets her hold him whenever she wants.
That was their arrangement and he isn't interested in changing it.
Angela at first thought that would be enough. The man's energy was strong, his drive and determination to succeed in his ambitions was what she needed to sustain herself and sate her hunger. She could ignore the cold emptiness that came gnawing at her chest every now and again.
But that was when she still had someone she could publicly call son.
With that gone, Angela found herself clutching at her chest, manicured nails digging at the skin above her heart. Her face was ashen, eyes aglow behind closed lids as she fought to restrain the surge of guilt racking her mind.
Her son was gone and, like what happened with his father, she places the blame on her own shoulders.
Why hadn't she considered the possibility of other alien species living on Earth? Why hadn't it occurred to her to teach him about the risks of feeding off non-humans? Why hadn't she thought to warn her son about the dangers of having one's mana flow forcibly reversed?
She had grown overconfident, and careless and weak.
A fact that had made itself all the more evident when she couldn't eat him. Not even when she considered how his mere existence could put her secret in jeopardy. Not even when she thought of how wretched his life will be given his condition.
From here on out, Angela decided that since she did not act the way a dranichian mother would, she would have to live with the consequences the way a human mother would.
This was her punishment.
She will never admit this to anyone.
This was her penance.