Presence
Mantle - Chilling breeze, summoning tiny leaves
It was three in the morning. She was dreaming again.
The whimpering. The gasps. The obvious Fear.
The Dread Lord of Autumn looked down on the Spring Queen, his lover, confidant, and friend. His brow wrinkled in concern. It was still hard to sleep some times, and he enjoyed just lying there, watching her sleep. It was peaceful. And then he imagined losing her, to make sure he never lost sight of Fear, of his alertness.
She meant more to him than he ever thought possible. Not after his keeper had torn his heart asunder. For as he grew in the Wyrd, his on visions came a little more frequently, the past a little clearer. Ophelia, the Eternal Gardener – the holder of his utter devotion. Inhumanly beautiful, giver of servants and pleasures of the flesh and body. Every desire fulfilled. And why? Because she craved their love. And for any that wavered in their devotion, she would strip of the delights she offered. And if you refused…. Well. Rhodes had held the knife, like so many around him. And she would heal your scars, if you swore your soul.
The Flowering still had a weakness for beauty, he knew. But beauty was more than appearance. The fearsome power of an Ogre. The alien beauty of a Darkling or Elemental. The raw primality of a Beast. He had experienced them all in the Eternal Garden, he was sure, but it was awash in the blur of memories, hazed by the hedge and time. But Seraphina, though truly beautiful, had become so much more to him. She was kind, and caring. Things he thought he could never be again, lost to bitter vengeance and the scholar’s tower.
And now they were together, in their home. Sleeping together every night. Making alongside eeach other every day. Sharing meals. It was… ineffable.
And then the dreams began to break through again. And with them, the ever-present temptation to throw himself into her mind, force her to stare into the abyss of her nightmares and live with the very fears she avoided by serving the joys of everyone around her….
It was, he realised, a temperament that was very much in line with his Court. But forcing his will, his view over her freedom? It would make him no better than the Gentry that did the very same, and they had to walk the line. He could sit in the garden every day, and live with the tricking terror that rose up his spine time after time as hidden recollections of the Eternal Garden turned every green place into a den of hidden ears and spike-tonged liars, but he chose to do so. He had chosen to live with Fear. Autumn were the constant reminders that Changelings were never truly safe. They had escaped, and could be imprisoned again – beneath all other paths, be it hedonism or sorrow or anger… there would be Fear.
The Dream Lord’s mantle twisted and rippled an icy wind into the room, spinning leaves into the air. Locked in her dreams, Sera pulled the covers more tightly around her, writhing and emitting a gasp. Slowly, a palm stroked her head, and slowly, she seemed to settle – for now. In the silence of the evening, Rhodes heard a near silent whisper, but could not make out the words. Eerie and unsettling, he scanned the room, seeing nothing and no one. Overly large eyes narrowed in a leer, his temper flaring. Who dared to try intimidate him? Him? The Dread Lord?
As so often happened when riled, the Flowering’s mantle flared viciously, sending leaves and chilling gusts across the room. Eyes darted and stared, looking for the unusual, ears straining for the sound. As the winds twisted and flurried, louder this time, came a ghostly moan, and behind it, those same whispers on the winds, snippets of words on the edge of hearing. One seemed to stand out…
Liar…
Rhodes knew himself more than some phantom words. Though it seemed they were hidden truths, from a certain point of view; they were trying to unnerve him, bring fear. Blocking out the sounds, he looked for more.
The leaves seem are appearing further… and more… abundant…
A cold shiver from his own icy winds rose along his spine. It had been years since his own Mantle had been able to do that. Almost like a reminder…
Slowly, a smug smile grew across his lips. His dedication to the Court and to the ideas of Fear were rewarded, it seemed, as the seasons began to turn. A full year as the Dread Lord was on his doorstep, and as it did, his connection was growing again.
Alongside him, Sera groaned again, writhing. He had seen this before, only once, in her deepest of nightmares. An ominous portent, indeed. Restraint was not the way, as he slipped out of the bed to avoid the flailing fists and kicks. He sttod alongside the bed, waiting. She would wake very soon, he was sure, and would need him. Though concern bubbled in his chest, the curl of his lips remained on his face as the philosophies of the Leaden Mirror were made manifest before his very eyes.
Truly even in one’s safest of Havens, Fear was ever near.
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