A malicious intention is born...
If you could buy a magic potion, what would it be?
The gypsy smiled mysteriously from behind the woolen veil. A thousands secrets where in her eyes, dancing elusively to the surface before slipping through his grasp, each carrying something of importance and weighing heavy against all odds. But she did not part with them, though her lips seemed poised to whisper one or the other to the wind.
“A potion,” she murmured, her hand holding out the vial as she glanced in either direction, “for a boy who looks terribly lost.”
Lost? Percy scowled a little, fangs glinting in the pale lamp light. The city was dead, except for them, the sun creeping closer to the horizon. It was something he could feel now, the tell-tale pricks of approaching dawn, as if morning was reaching into his cold heart of trying to pluck his soul away. With each passing moment, the pain would grow, become more insistent.
“What does it do?”
“Anything you want…That’s why it is magic, boy. It does anything you want it to.” She smiled, her lips curled up unkindly as she tilted her head to the side with a look of secrets. She was a dark creature, her skin burnt from many hours in the sun, hands rough from holding the wagon reins, eyes wrinkled and squinted. “Just a florin, that’s all.”
He had a florin, but he hesitated. “How does it work?”
“Put it in your mind, what you want it to be. Think on it hard, and the potion will become such.” She smiled, “you could make it Midas’ touch, if you wanted. And never want for gold again…”
Percy had no desire for wealth though, as he watched her. One florin, for anything he wanted? It was a hard thing to resist as he found his money purse and hunted out the heavy coin. His cold fingers dropped the item in her palm as he reached out for the vial and smiled softly…
“One last thing,” the gyspy woman said, holding her finger high to stave off any protest from vampire. “You may only define the potion once….be sure you know what you want.”
He glared at her, snatching out for the vial as he glared. Can only choose once? Percy didn’t care, he knew what he wanted it to be…or he thought he did. The woman only laughed; her voice wheezing and harsh as she turned to walk away. “Foolish boy,” she murmured but already forgotten by the boy.
Turning away, Percy ignored the distant rumble of an approaching storm, the wind brushing his dark locks out of his eyes as he walked. His finger’s clinched at the vial as if it were a life line, eyes narrowed suspiciously as he glared at any who dared to cross his path.
“William…”
Percy stopped, the lightening illuminating the area around them as Percy looked back at the dark figure standing behind him.
Gawain was dressed in his finest, soft red velvets and lace tucked into his vest as the wind brushed back loose strands of hair. At a glance he seemed nothing more than a Lord, or a gentleman of some status. With closer inspection, one might notice the finer details that detached the beast before him from life in general. The pale skin that seemed almost translucent, the dead glint of apathy in cold eyes, the blue tint to thin lips that reminded Percy of a frozen sky more than warmth of breath.
“William is dead…” Percy replied coldly, fingers curling tight about the vial, chin jutting upward with a defiant air.
“Willi-“
“William is dead.”
Gawain pulled up, shoulders tense. The vampires lips pulled into a thin, displeased line as he moved ever closer, eyes cutting through the cold to stab deep into his child’s heart. “William is still there,” he chided, as a vexed parent would a childish youth. “You just wish he weren’t…”
“Heh.” Percy sneered softly, finding a barely present resolve to hold back his urge to pull away and hide from his sire’s icy touch. “Piss off.” He sniped, turning his head in an effort to appear so much more aloof than he possibly was.
“Have we not moved beyond this yet?” Gawain’s patience was waning, Percy’s stubbornness pushing and claw at it every chance that presented itself. “You grow more annoying with each day…”
“Maybe you should have cut my throat when you had the chance…”
“And given you the pleasure of it?” Gawain’s heavy hand found a perch on Percy’s shoulder, clutching with a strength that threatened to snap bones. “I think not…”
In that single instant it was as if the fog of uncertainty cleared away, bushing a path clear to a single answer to his question. Morality was no longer a factor, and with the sureness of a confident beast…he decided, and wished with all his might.
Death.
Bottled in a little vial and prime for the use of any wicked heart with the intent to destroy what was natural (and unnatural), and take the power of God from the Divine’s own hand. No longer would heaven and hell have soul claim on the right to end life…
“You should have,” Percy promised in a cold whisper as his lips turned up in a slow, manic curve. He could taste the flavor of it on his lips, eyes twinkling with a bloodlust born of supernatural means. “Someday you’ll regret it…”
Gawain gave his a curious look, before pulling his hand away slowly and raising a brow. For a brief moment, Percy thought he saw fear in the vampire’s eyes, but the expression lasted on a breath’s moment.
“I fear you already regret too much to be saved,” Gawain murmured finally, a heavy truth sinking between then like an iron curtain.
===
William Percy Hastings
OC
word count: 958
The gypsy smiled mysteriously from behind the woolen veil. A thousands secrets where in her eyes, dancing elusively to the surface before slipping through his grasp, each carrying something of importance and weighing heavy against all odds. But she did not part with them, though her lips seemed poised to whisper one or the other to the wind.
“A potion,” she murmured, her hand holding out the vial as she glanced in either direction, “for a boy who looks terribly lost.”
Lost? Percy scowled a little, fangs glinting in the pale lamp light. The city was dead, except for them, the sun creeping closer to the horizon. It was something he could feel now, the tell-tale pricks of approaching dawn, as if morning was reaching into his cold heart of trying to pluck his soul away. With each passing moment, the pain would grow, become more insistent.
“What does it do?”
“Anything you want…That’s why it is magic, boy. It does anything you want it to.” She smiled, her lips curled up unkindly as she tilted her head to the side with a look of secrets. She was a dark creature, her skin burnt from many hours in the sun, hands rough from holding the wagon reins, eyes wrinkled and squinted. “Just a florin, that’s all.”
He had a florin, but he hesitated. “How does it work?”
“Put it in your mind, what you want it to be. Think on it hard, and the potion will become such.” She smiled, “you could make it Midas’ touch, if you wanted. And never want for gold again…”
Percy had no desire for wealth though, as he watched her. One florin, for anything he wanted? It was a hard thing to resist as he found his money purse and hunted out the heavy coin. His cold fingers dropped the item in her palm as he reached out for the vial and smiled softly…
“One last thing,” the gyspy woman said, holding her finger high to stave off any protest from vampire. “You may only define the potion once….be sure you know what you want.”
He glared at her, snatching out for the vial as he glared. Can only choose once? Percy didn’t care, he knew what he wanted it to be…or he thought he did. The woman only laughed; her voice wheezing and harsh as she turned to walk away. “Foolish boy,” she murmured but already forgotten by the boy.
Turning away, Percy ignored the distant rumble of an approaching storm, the wind brushing his dark locks out of his eyes as he walked. His finger’s clinched at the vial as if it were a life line, eyes narrowed suspiciously as he glared at any who dared to cross his path.
“William…”
Percy stopped, the lightening illuminating the area around them as Percy looked back at the dark figure standing behind him.
Gawain was dressed in his finest, soft red velvets and lace tucked into his vest as the wind brushed back loose strands of hair. At a glance he seemed nothing more than a Lord, or a gentleman of some status. With closer inspection, one might notice the finer details that detached the beast before him from life in general. The pale skin that seemed almost translucent, the dead glint of apathy in cold eyes, the blue tint to thin lips that reminded Percy of a frozen sky more than warmth of breath.
“William is dead…” Percy replied coldly, fingers curling tight about the vial, chin jutting upward with a defiant air.
“Willi-“
“William is dead.”
Gawain pulled up, shoulders tense. The vampires lips pulled into a thin, displeased line as he moved ever closer, eyes cutting through the cold to stab deep into his child’s heart. “William is still there,” he chided, as a vexed parent would a childish youth. “You just wish he weren’t…”
“Heh.” Percy sneered softly, finding a barely present resolve to hold back his urge to pull away and hide from his sire’s icy touch. “Piss off.” He sniped, turning his head in an effort to appear so much more aloof than he possibly was.
“Have we not moved beyond this yet?” Gawain’s patience was waning, Percy’s stubbornness pushing and claw at it every chance that presented itself. “You grow more annoying with each day…”
“Maybe you should have cut my throat when you had the chance…”
“And given you the pleasure of it?” Gawain’s heavy hand found a perch on Percy’s shoulder, clutching with a strength that threatened to snap bones. “I think not…”
In that single instant it was as if the fog of uncertainty cleared away, bushing a path clear to a single answer to his question. Morality was no longer a factor, and with the sureness of a confident beast…he decided, and wished with all his might.
Death.
Bottled in a little vial and prime for the use of any wicked heart with the intent to destroy what was natural (and unnatural), and take the power of God from the Divine’s own hand. No longer would heaven and hell have soul claim on the right to end life…
“You should have,” Percy promised in a cold whisper as his lips turned up in a slow, manic curve. He could taste the flavor of it on his lips, eyes twinkling with a bloodlust born of supernatural means. “Someday you’ll regret it…”
Gawain gave his a curious look, before pulling his hand away slowly and raising a brow. For a brief moment, Percy thought he saw fear in the vampire’s eyes, but the expression lasted on a breath’s moment.
“I fear you already regret too much to be saved,” Gawain murmured finally, a heavy truth sinking between then like an iron curtain.
===
William Percy Hastings
OC
word count: 958