Heartbreak. Tearing, rending, agonizing- H E A R T B R E A K. Most foul! All of these terms were true when describing the pain he felt in his heart of hearts. Why? Why, his beloved had gone. Gone. She was gone. Gone. Not where he had left her like a good little girl, like he had always instructed her to remain- but where could she be now? There had been no evidence left behind- just like he’d taught her. Oh such a clever girl; but using her intelligence against her loving father? A grave sin. How could she abandon him as such? How could she not await his return? Did she not realize how dreadfully he would miss her? That he would come to collect her?  Like a hound on the trail of a fox, Setekh had been chasing after a phantom for months. Months and months of worry, of sadness, of anger. She had not been raised this way. Oh but she had. To disobey? No. Never. His favorite daughter, oh dear sweet Absinth; like a scourge upon his mind and an burning ache in his throat. She was as her namesake intended. Running through his veins, terrorizing his anatomy. He was poisoned with her memory, all that he had left of her now- and she had done so gleefully. Bad. Bad. Bad little girl. Ungrateful. Lost. Loved. And so, he sought her out.

There had been no rhyme or reason to his crossing the ocean in his search for her. He simply felt like she was here. A calling, a beckoning, a ‘Daddy come find meee~’ ringing out in his head. It pulled at every fiber of his being, like she was summoning him in hopes of forgiveness… His limbs should have burned intensely with the effort it took to swim for so long, yet he could feel nothing. There was a mantra, a drumming of her name playing without interruption within his deranged mind. His molten gaze eventually locked on a piece of land that appeared to be glowing under the cover of night. But Setekh wasn’t truly seeing anything. What was really playing within his glorious mind were the memories of a young girl, with a coat as pristinely white as his own, only with a face of soot- and bright, bright, bright green eyes like emeralds. Beauty incarnate staring back at him with unfathomable intellect. How could he not travel to the ends of the earth in search of her?

As he began to feel the waves become more turbulent upon proximity to land The Ivory Prince finally came back to himself. His repetitive and disordered thinking ceased for the moment, calculating his next course of action swiftly. He grunted, forcing more strength into his muscles to propel his body forward until he found himself scraping sandy ground with his nails in every stroke. Finally, Landfall. He did not dump himself unceremoniously upon the ground to rest after such a lengthy swim, no- he was far too focused on his goal for that. He emerged unto the land drenched, his perfect coat shaking off the salty water first of all; and he simply kept going. There was no direction he was following, there was only the inevitable.  The promise of finding his truest love. A b s i n t h h h. 

"He Speaks" | 'He Thinks' | The Madness

she’s been watching through a gap in the trees, observing the man and his desperate struggle. she makes no move to assist, merely watches from her throne of grass with an impassive gleam in her eye, the kind of apathy harboured by bored royals - a god looking down on the mortal populace. but there’s something…different about this man, a crazed look about him that unwittingly intrigues her. ordinarily she disdains the dealings of men, finds their grievances petty at best and revolting at worse. as such she tries to remain untangled from them, skirting their sufferings unless they are of Saxe blood. but this man...perhaps it is the sheer determination to live, to defy the cold as it snatches the breathe from his lungs. regardless, something drags her forward, makes her reveal herself to him as his sodden form claws itself forward incremental inch by inch. "the gods have been kind to you." she draws herself up to her full height, using her muscular build and his weakened state to her advantage. "or, perhaps...very unkind." not many could've survived such an expedition, after all. although Yarra herself isn't religious, she can't help but wonder if perhaps this man's survival is divine intervention. maybe he's been saved for some great celestial purpose beyond her mortal comprehension - though knowing the flippancy of gods, it could very easily be one of great suffering, great trial. the idea amuses her, and her expression reflects this, an upward curving of lips revealing a hint of teeth. she's pushing this stranger, learning his sore points, his weaknesses. lighting a fire just to witness its destruction - no matter if she's burnt in the process. "Speech"

Oh but in his search for his darling daughter there came a new caller. A beauty of deep reddish-purple. She came forth as a witness to his landfall, musculature rippling beneath that lovely hide of her’s. She spoke to him, and her voice traveled to him to quiet the droning of his mind. All at once it ceased repeating Absinth’s name to him, his focus realigning with that of the new soul before him. Offering him some sort of reprieve. A beautiful chance indeed. She grins at him, a flash of teeth, amusement plain on her features. 'Oh? What’s this?' Was he being tested? Tested. Bested. Invested. An interest the likes none have ever seen!

Setekh paused, switching his direction but never stopping, putting him squarely before her. She wished to speak to him, it would be done to face to face, eye to eye. Souls beared for all to see. Yes. That was the way it was meant to be. All things are as you command them to be! Setekh regarded her well, peering down at her with deep perception. Seeking her fears, her likes, her dislikes, her motivation in summoning his attention. “Kind, Unkind. What do those words mean to the gods? Bestowing blessings, creating the need to be blessed in the first place. Bringing famines with the only cure- a sacrificial lamb- to be killed to return their good graces. All just words to comfort the weak, and magnify their smallness at the same time.” The Ivory Prince returned her grin, sea water still dripping down his chin. Even water logged he was a picture of perfection, eyes boring into her own with force. “What can I do for you, little one? Can I feed some part of you? You do not strike me as a woman that adores meaningless chatter with strangers. I for one, enjoy it thoroughly.” The God looked her over, leering at her heavier weight and curves.. All with a mischievous twinkle in his volcanic eyes. It was difficult to see the color green there within her gaze. And so fiery. Just like his daughter. It made him feel… hungry. Eager. Oh what a meager meal! A meal to feel, to kneel, to sit at your altar!

"He Speaks" | 'He Thinks' | The Madness

oh, she is right - this man is intriguing. there’s so much leashed behind that blood red gaze, his soaked frame seeming to tremble with a thinly veiled maelstrom of emotions. she can’t parse them - she’s never been the most perceptive of creatures - but the very presence of it sends a shiver of danger down her spine. and oh how she loves danger. “how blasphemous,” she purrs, the words tripping from her lips like honey. “be careful they don’t have your tongue for that.” she notices his leering and allows him to look his fill, stretching out so that he might better admire the tantalising curves of her body. she knows she’s a beauty, and she can appreciate his own looks in a detached kind of way, can admit his handsomeness to herself although she might not desire him sexually. but there is a carnality to him that appeals to her, something primal that sparks heat through her all the same. affecting a languid stride, she dares a step closer to him and allows his scent to roll over her, something heady and altogether masculine. will his blood taste the same? will it sear her tongue like hellfire? her tongue licks along her bottom lip, collecting the drool that forms there. “you’d be correct.” her voice is a breathy whisper, breaching the gap between them where she physically does not. “i’m seeking something…more. something bloody.” so many of the wolves here have disappointed, but this man…maybe he really can satisfy her cravings. “can you help me?” and here her voice goes high and innocent, eyelashes batting in the mocking approximation of a virtuous maiden. "Speech"

The God was indeed thoroughly amused with the girl’s presentation of obvious thrill given the situation. Her yearning to push her limits with his patience was proving to stoke the flames of his enthrallment. She had his full attention, every grandiose speck of it calculating what he could do to this spirited young woman. His tongue flicked out to lick away droplets of salty water from his maw, molten gaze never leaving her or the feminine curvature of her bodice. He was a plainly lustful, domineering creature, ever ready to take certain risks to attain his deplorable desires. Desires! So dire! Never a liar! Though when she labeled him as sacrilegious, Setekh began a symphony of sonorous laughter. His lips curled impishly upon his handsome face. “If they had my tongue, they would experience a pleasure unlike any other, I assure you.” The brute rumbles coyly, slowly, insinuating an offer most vile to her waiting ears. And just as he was to press further into her space did she come willingly into his own. She comes, she comes! Sound the drums! Her breath was seductive against his nares as she teased the fine line of self-control he held, his muscles tensing when she innocently poured her wicked desires into the heavy atmosphere all around them. A confession of need that caressed his brain, and he was so very happy to oblige her. “Such sweet words.” Just as sweet as the color of her pelt, an almost dark red with tints of purple - just like wine. Would she be as savory? Would she intoxicate him so profoundly? “How could I possibly deny that which you crave so deeply, my dear?” The Ivory Prince then closed the gap between them with a powerful plunge forward, attempting to sink his canines into the dangerous, yet beautifully alluring female's throat. Oh, but not to kill. No. She sought blood, and blood he would give her. His intention to play her game is clear. Blood! Blood flooding at your feet! It sings your name! Dancing like a flame!

"He Speaks" | 'He Thinks' | The Madness

he goes right for her throat, so deliciously direct it elicits a delighted rumble, not unlike a purr. blood wells where the man's teeth find purchase, punctures the delicate flesh there and pulling a wonderful pleasure-pain to the surface. indeed, they are likely to scar, and Yarra relishes the idea. about time someone put her pretty pelt to good use. she leans into his bite, puts her all her weight onto him so that she can raise her forepaws and sink her claws into the white flesh of his shoulders. she scrabbles and tears, hoping to make a mess of him, to shred him into pieces under her ministrations. all of this depends on his reaction, of course. regardless, she then aims to twist her neck in a position that would allow her to find purchase on his cheek, teeth chomping at the thin fur there. the pain of her throat wound has a heady effect on her, not unlike a drug - for a moment she is swaying, unable to feel her feet as her heart beats louder in her ears. the ensuing effect is a writhing of blood and teeth and pain as the Saxe woman twists under his grasp, tears springing to her eyes and pooling down her face. they're an involuntary reaction to the pain, based on no real sorrow or emotion, and they serve to throw everything back into sharp relief. it's a grounding force, rooting her in the moment where the pain had sent her floating mere moments before. her body screams for relief, but her mind crackles as though on fire, a searing heat licking through her veins and consuming her from the inside out. oh, oh, oh...."harder," she rasps, her voice broken and ruinous. "Speech"

She is receptive to his advance, though this is not a common dance between a man and a woman, oh no. This was a clash between two demented beings, each inclined to take what they wished from one another. He grips her throat with fervor, a deep rumble escaping his lungs through the skin caught in his teeth. Though the sea water had chilled him to the bone, his blood ran hot and shamelessly bothered by her… reactions. The woman leans into his violent touch, her own resonation of pleasure flowing freely from her lips like the most seductive purr. She is setting off a chain reaction within him, his psyche coming to revolve solely around her in this moment they were grappling for. The God smiles through the cutting of her claws within the flesh of his shoulders, her limbs moving to tear at his pure ivory coat; splicing through tissue and earning herself a constant drip drip drip of his divine blood. Setekh sucks in a deep breath, his ribs heaving with laughter caught in his lungs. She is a brutal thing. BRUTAL! BEAUTIFUL!! BLOOD IS SPILT! LISTEN TO HER LILT! Then, her jaws seek the soft skin of his cheek, and he lets her- pressing his face into her grasp as well as his chest against her own. Flush against her wine-colored body he is stricken with the urgent need to claw his way inside of her very soul.

And she is the picture of rapture. Every fiber of his being urges him to appease the masochistic desires of this girl- to send her into a blazing oblivion… And she is so willing. SO EAGER! WISH TO SEE HER WEAKER, TO FEEL HER DEEPER! She twists in his grasp as though to bring herself ever more pain, and he is so taken with her wretched need he is already adjusting his jaws around her throat when she pleads for his worst, applying more and more pressure - seeking to push her onto her back as he anticipated a lapse in her consciousness. He wanted her on her back.

"He Speaks" | 'He Thinks' | The Madness

there’s something so…tantalising about being at the centre of this creature’s focus, being the fixed point upon which that bloodied gaze rests, even if only for a moment. for this one singular blip of time, the pair of them are twin monsters drawn to the other’s depravity, seeking self-destruction at the hands of a stranger to satisfy the bloodlust coursing beneath their person-suits. it’s utterly liberating to strip back the confines of her own skin and give herself over, utterly and shamelessly, to this wicked man and his sinful tongue, to thrust her own lifeblood into his grasping hands and trust she’ll continue to draw breath. no, it’s not trust, it’s a recklessness born of starvation, a recklessness that urges her to crane her neck and allow his teeth to find purchase, to push her to the earth as he crushes down on her windpipe. Yarra goes easily, let’s her spine settle against the ground and feels her eyelashes flutter on the edge  of closed, so that only mere flashes of that venomous green are visible against the hollowed angles of her face. dark spots start to dot her vision, crowding around the edges of her sight and slowly expanding until all but the man’s face is visible. soon, he too is swallowed by the darkness, a bright blur at the centre of her narrowing world, and it’s his scarlet eyes that remain at the forefront of her mind as she feels the last of her consciousness slip briefly from between her fingers. her awareness flickers in and out like the gentle fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, allowing her only snatches of the next few minutes while she lays herself completely at the mercy of this beast. it amuses her to imagine herself the fair maiden to his monster, though she hasn’t been fair a day in her life and has no intention of starting now. still, their fairytale is a grim one, and she fully intends to see its ending. will he tear the heart from her chest and crush it while it still beats? will he drink the blood from her veins and bathe in it’s iron scent, let her cover his white pelt from head to toe until she’s soaked so thoroughly into him that she’ll linger forever? both are impossibilities if she intends to stay alive, which she does - but oh, the many prospects are simply delicious. her consciousness is like the tide, sweeping in and rolling back out with rhythmic consistency. as Yarra chokes on a cough and sucks in a wisp of oxygen, the man’s face briefly sharpens into focus before blurring once more - and Yarra is struck with the sudden notion that he looks almost like… “Absinth?” a part of her knows it’s not possible, that the monochromatic woman can’t have just materialised above her out of thin air, but in her delirium Yarra imagines the sharp planes of that pale face to belong to the beautiful fae she’d met all those weeks ago. the similarities between her and this beastly man aren’t pronounced enough to be immediately noticeable, but the longer Yarra looks the more she finds herself picking out tiny familiarities. perhaps it’s merely a side effect of her oxygen deprivation, but for a moment she’s wholly convinced the other woman is right here beside her. “Absi…you’re…so beautiful.” "Speech"

As soon as the name left the woman’s lips, Setekh was stricken with far more than depraved lust. His molten orbs bore into her half lidded toxic ones, watching how out of sorts she was, while he waits. A mistake? A slip of the tongue? He hadn’t thought of his daughter whilst in the brutally passionate embrace of the woman… But Setekh knew he had not imagined it. It was this woman’s voice, speaking that precious name, moaning it. His jaws tighten further, as though he would squeeze the words out of her faster. Absinth? His Absinth? What would the likes of this beautiful creature know of his little girl? Setekh is motionless, lost to the war of thrill and rage. True, he had been searching for his daughter, but to have possibly come so close? He could only imagine how much she had grown, all of it away from his gaze.

‘Absi…you’re…so beautiful.’ There. The nail that struck the coffin of his insanity. The God is possessed, eyes flashing in anger and obsession. Pure obsession! His prized possession. HIS ABSINTH. OH ABSOLVE HER OF HER CRIMES! He shifts his weight, a paw coming to press down against her throat as he releases his jaws. He must speak. Must elicit more information from her. As his pink tongue darts out, licking the blood from his lips, his chin, he is too late to catch what had already smeared into his neck and chest. His cheek is lacerated, blood flowing like crimson tears from his otherworldly face. The Ivory Prince smiles, a sweet, haunting thing – a promise of torment. A hind limb raises as his face cracks into a deliciously malicious grin. He is crazed – maddened, evidently, as his leg pushes down on her lower region with sensual force. “My… daughter. You know my Absinth?” He speaks, purring enticingly as he applies more pressure to her throat and womanhood in tandem. Speak. Speak. SPEAK. But there is something horribly wrong with the way he refers to his daughter. It is sick. It is twisted.

"He Speaks" | 'He Thinks' | The Madness

she’s scarcely aware of her slip-up or the effect it’s had on this man, scarcely aware of anything until the pressure on her throat deepens, gains a weight and purpose that sends alarm bells ringing through her mind. this isn’t the careful application of mere moments ago, a measured pressure intended to suspend her between the worlds of conscious and unconsciousness. no, this is desperate and wild and vaguely unhinged; there’s a dangerous glint in his eye that suggests he might just crush her windpipe if her answer isn’t to his satisfaction. somehow the tables have turned while she wasn’t paying attention, the rules to this wicked game have changed so abruptly she hasn’t a chance to gain her bearings. this, combined with the sinful pleasure-pain blooming through her womanhood, makes it hard to get a grasp on the situation. she feels wrong-footed, out-of-control in a manner so different to the blissful oblivion of mere moments ago. and then there’s the words themselves, the demand he makes of her as he pins her to the earth. ’my…daughter. you know my Absinth?’ there’s something truly chilling in the way he says it, a propriety that churns the pit of her stomach like storm-laden waves. that madness is back in his gaze, and the presence of it in conjunction to Absi…it turns her veins to ice, makes her wish she could take back Absi’s name and covet it for herself like a damning secret. maybe he’s speaking the truth, and Absinth really is his daughter. but Yarra’s witnessed the depravity of men long enough to recognise that look on his face. lust. hunger. pure, unadulterated want. a bout of nausea grips her, and it takes all her strength not to let it show. she has to play along, to feign stupidity. to get out of here, away from this man - to survive so she can tell Absinth. warn her. whatever the fuck. but despite the urgency of these thoughts, Yarra hasn’t the strength to do more than draw laborious breaths into her aching lungs, eyelashes fluttering as consciousness continues to allude her. he’s really doing a number on her, dammit - and what was thrilling before has turned chilling. dangerous. but maybe…maybe she can use this to her advantage. “your daughter?” Yarra slurs the words, which isn’t hard given how heavy her tongue feels in her mouth. ”i dunno your daughter…never heard of her.” lazily she thrusts up into his grip, relishing the pleasure roiling through her at his touch. it’s depraved she can still find arousal in this situation, isn’t it? she imagines finding Absi after, telling her, ‘i fucked around with your Dad a little bit,’ and a fit of hysteria causes her to collapse into giggles. Goddess, she has to get out of here before this man shreds the last of her sanity. she feels splintered around the edge, her mind cracking down the middle and breaking off into little pieces. "Speech"

The man’s paw presses harder, deeper into the woman’s throat, his eyes ablaze with a tempest of anger and utter madness. Setekh’s grip shifted sporadically as his focus ebbed and flowed, alternating between a crushing force on her throat and a manic intensity upon her nethers, revealing the instability that surged within him. It was so wholly consuming. "Oh… Oh, my lovely chalice of sweet, sweet ichor. You. Know. My. Absinth~ Do not lie, do not fret. I can feel her in your bones. She is my heart and soul- Didn’t you know?" Let it be known! It will be shown! Each word was punctuated by a fervor that bordered on the edge of obsession, rhythmically hinting at a connection with Absinth that ran deep and… horribly tumultuous. Setekh was being tossed about within his own psyche, eager to wring the truth out from this insignificant woman. But no. No. Was she not just a goddess, a brutal beauty? She had been, before he was reminded of the true divinity he was seeking. His thoughts shifted again, instead running wild with imagery of his daughter, all… grown up. With the delicious imagination that she was surely a woman by now, curvaceous and supple. What would her voice sound like? How low could it drop, how loud could she scream? Gasp? Moan? A shudder cascades down from his spine, sending his every ivory follicle on edge. From his cracked grin fell a dribble of drool, which fell upon his captive’s chest as the man’s eyes glazed over. Lost to his delusions. ‘Daddy! You know, I love you, you’re the only one that cares about me. You’re the only one I need.’ Yes. Yes. All he needed was for his daughter to come to him, come running into his awaiting embrace and… and all would be forgiven.

The air crackled with a blazing tension as if his very presence disrupted the stability of the surroundings. His voice, a volatile mix of disjointed growls and whispers, resonated with an unsettling cadence as he spoke again. "When you wake, my love—Tell her. Tell her... I've come for her. She must have been so lonely, so full of sorrow. But it's all over now. I will find her. So she needn’t worry. No more running away. Hm?" Never stray, never betray! Lest your world be nothing but gray! The God giggled, deep and bubbly. As the whirlwind of his emotions subsided into peaceful tranquility on his part, Setekh roughly handled the woman, his movements erratic and unpredictable. The body was still on edge even while his mind had elapsed into fixation on a different purpose for this woman below him. “Mmm, and- do a good job with my message, and I’ll sate that hunger of yours~ For now though, you’ll simply satisfy mine." With a curved spine, blood like wine!” He sought eye contact with the wine-colored woman, a tone so wickedly teasing to his voice as he ensured she had heard him. Then, he renewed his grip upon her throat, his jaws clamping down harshly; his tongue coming to lick long soothing comforts in between his horrid love bite. She was so sweet. Truly, like wine. He continued his vigorous motions on her womanhood, smirking as he felt her body tense and writhe beneath him. He sought to bring her the utmost pleasure, a climax within the fracturing of her awareness. He would have nothing else.

The promise hung in the air like a storm cloud. And Setekh would not let her go until her consciousness finally fled from her grasp, especially not before her... convulsions of pleasure dissipated through her wondrous bodice. Only then did he release her, his fangs having dug deep trenches within the tender flesh of her throat.

[Exit Setekh.]

"He Speaks" | 'He Thinks' | The Madness