Over time, Sericea had become quite confident in her abilities to make a silent departure from the Syndicate. Each silent footfall bought more and more distance between the family she was temporarily leaving behind, and the grandsire that she was sneaking away to meet. She absorbed each and every lesson Setekh had taught her like a sponge- utilizing everything he could possibly impart to reach her full potential. Her lean body weaved lithely through the sparse copses of cedar and spruce, her acidic green eyes gleaming with a cunning and intelligence beyond her age. The summer sun dappled through the dense network of leaves overhead, casting the world in a kaleidoscope of green and gold, contrasting sharply against her deep red fur. Her keen eyes traced the familiar path, the uneven terrain littered with mossy boulders, and eventually the trees would vanish- leaving an uninterrupted view of the ruined wall.

The wall, a relic of the past, stood in stark contrast to the lush greenery around it. Its jagged edges and worn-down bricks a testament to whatever ancient hand constructed it. Like a spine along the back of the land, it cut across the thawed tundra with a strange air of … superiority? That wasn’t the right word for it. But the sight of it always filled Sericea with a sense of foreboding and respect. It was a good place to meet her grandfather anyways.

With a glance toward the suns position, she quickened her pace. She knew better than to keep him waiting.

"Sericea Praetor-Inferos"

The world was quiet here, a pocket of silence that held its breath as if afraid to disturb the secrets entombed in stone and soil. In the heart of this place, amid the broken ruins that stood from the earth like the bones, a lone figure moved—slender, poised, and waiting. Setekh was a part of the silence, an ivory wraith slipping seamlessly into the contours of the shadows cast by the ruined walls. It was here he had chosen to meet his lovely granddaughter.

Sericea, his student, was but a speck moving towards him, her red fur catching shards of the setting sun as she wove her way. He watched her, his eyes tracking each movement with a silent, exact scrutiny. Each step, each breath she took betrayed the growth she'd undergone under his tutelage, her form moving with an elegance and purpose few her age possessed. She was a product of his making now, a vessel he had filled and would continue to fill with skill and knowledge, layer by meticulous layer, until she no longer resembled the unshaped clay she'd once been. Until she was far more perfect than he had thought of his dear Absinth.

His gaze narrowed, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes as he observed her approach, watching as she threaded through the delicate balance between alertness and composure. That confidence, did she know how fragile it was? How age would refine it into a steely wall of fortitude…? She must know he was there already; she could feel his presence as surely as a heartbeat under the skin of the world—wasn’t that so? He relished in this—the anticipation, the game of letting her come to him, knowing she was eager, letting her imagine she was in control of her steps even as he orchestrated the dance between them. After all, she was coming here in secret—her parents none the wiser to save her from him.

When she was close enough, the Ivory God stepped forward from his place within the ruins, he met her with a languid grace, a predator’s measured approach softened by the indulgent curve of his smile. His gaze traveled over her, a slow, deliberate analysis that held both pride and a possessive gleam, like a craftsman admiring the subtleties of his creation. "Sericea," he murmured, the name slipping from his tongue like silk as his voice curled through the stillness, low and rich with approval. "Silent as the shadows themselves, you've become."

There was a satisfaction in his tone, but beneath it, something darker—a thread of intrigue, of hunger, as he watched her with a gaze that stripped away the trivialities, piercing straight to the essence she was only beginning to wield. Oh the places she would go, and all within the palm of his hands.

"speaking" | voices

Sericea emerged from the underbrush, her heart quickening as she finally spotted him. Setekh stood in the shadow of the wall, his ivory coat gleaming with an ethereal glow in the waning sunlight, an imposing figure woven from myth and reality. She took a moment to catch her breath, acutely aware of the taut anticipation crackling in the air between them.

“Grandfather,” she called out, her voice a mixture of reverence and … something else. Awe, and uncertainty. “I came as quickly as I could.” Sericea felt a mixture of warmth and unease wash over her at his words. The fluttering in her chest intensified under his scrutinizing gaze, as if each glance sought to peel back layers of her resolve. She met his eyes, the acidic green depths reflecting back a hint of her own nervous energy, but she silenced the unsettling voice whispering caution in the back of her mind. Instead, she pushed forward, driven by the desire to impress him, to be worthy of the lordly smile he offered.

"Have I pleased you?" She ventured, a spark of boldness igniting within her. What came next would determine the rhythm of their interaction, and she craved his affirmation like a drought-stricken earth yearned for rain. “I’ve been practicing … ” she added, her voice betraying a slight tremor despite her attempt at appearing strong and composed.

"Sericea Praetor-Inferos"

Setekh watched her with a subtle pride, her crimson form a daring stroke against the muted gray of the ancient stone. So pretty Too pretty. She was a work of art, one he was loathe to admit he was glad of Absinth’s defiance since it had amounted to such a treat. Every move she made held the weight of youthful purpose, her need for his favor drawing her here in defiance of all else. It was a familiar hunger he saw in her, one he had sowed and tended, cultivating her loyalty into a secret fire, luring her to him like a moth to a flame unseen. Her mother was completely unaware, just as he intended. This secret they shared was the crucible, the forging of something exquisite.

“My precious Sericea,” he murmured, savoring her name, every syllable a delicate thread of honey dripping from his tongue. “You draw nearer to the image I envisioned of you. Soon, you’ll wield even silence itself as an ally.” His voice held the satisfaction of a sculptor admiring his work, his words meant to curl around her with a dark promise. A compliment and a bind. As he drew nearer, his steps deliberate and smooth, the voices rose within him, weaving their murmurs into his thoughts. A seed in her soul, a fire to stoke; her strength is the silence, a spell yet bespoke! He tilted his head, watching her boldness flicker, savoring how she clung to her courage, still unaware of its fragility. But he enjoyed that, too.

“You wish to please me, and indeed you have,” he said, letting a note of indulgent warmth color his tone. But beneath it, the sharpened edge of a question gleamed. He reached out, offering her a gentle caress of her cheek and a claw against her jawbone as he retracted soon after. “Yet do you understand why, Sericea? What it is within me that drives your devotion?” His gaze narrowed, studying her with a fascination that was almost feral, the challenge daring her to answer. What would her answer be?

“What is it that stirs within you?” he continued, his voice a soft command, molten orbs swirling in complete focus as he awaited her answer. “Do you crave mastery, the thrill of it…? or is it something deeper, something unknown to even you?” He held her gaze, searching her expression, watching for the first spark of revelation, that tremor of vulnerability she might betray. Oh, a heart to sway, a mind to claim; she’s drawn to your shadow, and she’ll learn your name.

He did not wait for an answer, it was more tantalizing to let her ponder the question all the same. Letting his mind go quiet, he placed a paw gently on her opposite shoulder, a calculated touch of both dominance and reassurance, he pulled her into his chest. “For our next lesson, my dear,” he said softly, his voice low and rich, like silk sliding through the air, “heed this: True power is an unseen thread woven in whispers, in glances that bear unseen weight. It is the art of influence.”

He withdrew his paw, inclining his head slightly, his gaze sharpening with expectation and delight. “When you speak, let them lean in, let them feel the weight of your silence. Let them think they hold your attention while you master their thoughts, winding them into knots with their own desires, their own needs.”

To lead and deceive, to bind and release—yes, yes, let her revel in control! the voices chanted, their words layered like a spell. A soul to ensnare, a will laid bare! His smile deepened, curling with dark amusement, his possessive gaze claiming her as both kin and creation. Yes. Quiet. He commanded his own mind.

“Show me, Sericea,” he urged, his voice dropping to a low summons. “Show me how you would command another’s gaze, whisper to their hidden fears, speak to their dreams.” His tone softened, coaxing, almost daring. “I will be your mirror, a world to bend beneath your will. Let me see if you can wield this weapon as your own.”

Of course, she was young. But her mother had been no older when he’d laid these same foundations. Would Sericea succeed where Absinth had faltered? The test was in her hands.

"speaking" | voices

Sericea felt a shiver ripple through her at Setekh's words, his honeyed voice both a caress and a subtle warning. She sensed the threads of power woven into his praise, binding her ever tighter to his vision. A part of her wanted to shy away from the intensity of his gaze, to retreat into the safety of her youth. But a larger part craved his approval, hungered for the dark promise in his words.

She felt the weight of Setekh's question settle upon her like a mantle, heavy with unspoken expectations. She met his molten gaze, her own acidic green eyes flickering with a myriad of emotions - devotion, uncertainty, a desperate need to prove herself worthy of his tutelage. Sericea swallowed hard, gathering her thoughts before answering. "I crave... worth." she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be more. I want to stand out, to be exceptional. To be worthy." Her words hung in the air between them, a confession born from the deepest recesses of her heart.

She took a step closer to Setekh, her movements deliberate yet tentative, as if testing the boundaries of their dynamic. "I want to learn from you, to become everything you see in me," Sericea continued, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. "Your teachings, your vision - they ignite something inside me. A hunger to be more.” She lifted her chin, meeting Setekh's piercing gaze head-on. In that moment, she felt a flicker of the power he promised, the potential waiting to be unleashed under his guidance. It was intoxicating, this sense of purpose, of being chosen for something greater.

Sericea felt the warmth of Setekh's touch linger on her shoulder even as he withdrew, his words echoing in her mind like a dark lullaby. She leaned into his chest for a fleeting moment, savoring the closeness, the sense of being enveloped in his power and presence. As he pulled back, she met his gaze, her eyes alight with a newfound determination.

"Influence," she repeated softly, testing the word on her tongue as if tasting its potency- her attention hinging on his every word. She began to nod slowly, absorbing Setekh's lesson. She could feel the weight of his expectations settling upon her shoulders, but rather than bowing under the pressure, she felt herself standing taller, rising to meet the challenge. "I understand, Grandfather," she said, her voice steady despite the nervous energy thrumming through her veins.

Sericea drew in a deep breath, steeling herself for the task at hand. Setekh's challenge hung in the air between them, a gauntlet thrown down, daring her to prove her mettle. She met his gaze, her acidic green eyes reflecting a glimmer of his own molten intensity. Slowly, deliberately, she began to circle him, her movements fluid and graceful, like a dancer weaving a spell. "You seek power, Grandfather," she murmured, her voice low and honeyed, a siren's call. She was not totally blinded by a child’s innocence. She knew what the glint of ambition looked like- or so she thought. "You crave control, the thrill of bending others to your will?" Sericea let her words hang in the air, trailing off as if they were more of a question than an accusation- allowing the silence to stretch between them, heavy with unspoken implications.

She paused behind Setekh, just out of his line of sight, her presence a tangible force at his back. "But what drives that hunger?" she whispered, her breath ghosting in exhale. "Is it the need to prove yourself, to rise above those who would doubt your greatness?" She moved to face him once more, her gaze locking with his, unflinching. Sericea continued circling Setekh, her gaze never wavering from his. "Or perhaps, it is something deeper," she mused, her voice taking on a softer, almost sympathetic tone.

"Sericea Praetor-Inferos"

His tongue flicked out, tasting the air as if savoring her confession. “Worth is earned,” Setekh continued, his voice a deep, resonant purr. “It is carved out of flesh and bone, claimed with blood and fire... And you shall earn it.” His gaze dropped to her throat, to the delicate line of vulnerability that pulsed with life. A thrill sparked within him, the madness clawing at the edges of his composure, a dangerous glint flashing in his molten eyes. Desire! Control! Take it, break it!

When she moved, daring to circle him, Setekh felt a shiver of anticipation ripple through him. Her words, probing and teasing, were a challenge he was eager to meet, just as she rose to meet his own.

Setekh’s gaze tracked Sericea’s every move, the fluid dance she wove around him sparking a smoldering curiosity in his molten eyes. Her voice, dipped in delightful defiance, prodded at the dark corners of his mind where desire and control intertwined. The tension crackled between them, a taut line strung of daring and boldness—a product of his own making.

“Power,” he echoed, letting the word fall like a stone into the charged silence. His voice seemed to carry the weight of centuries, each syllable laced with the echoes of his past conquests and promises. “Yes, child, I seek power. But not in the way you imagine.” A slow, predatory smile curved his lips, the glint of his teeth catching in the low light. Let her think she knows, let her think she sees the depths.

As Sericea moved behind him, just out of sight, a flicker of something sharper passed through him—a thrill edged with unease. The voices within stirred, restless, a symphony of warning and delight. Watch her, watch her dance; she seeks to know, to pry—be wary, be sly. He remained still, poised like a statue carved from stone, every muscle taut beneath his perfect coat.

Her question drifted over him, a phantom touch against his cerebellum. His ear flicked at the sensation, betraying the slightest reaction. “My hunger,” he repeated, his tone a rich murmur that slithered into the space between them. He turned then, smoothly, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that burned like the heart of a forge. “Is a beast that demands to be fed.” He shifted, taking a step forward, invading the space she held—the space he allowed her to claim—letting the heat of his presence wash over her in total domination. “But it does not seek approval or affirmation, Sericea. It is the marrow of my being, the pulse beneath my skin. Everything I do, I do for it.”

He lifted a paw, tracing the air between them—a gesture that seemed almost absent-minded but was steeped in purpose. “It is love,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “It is the craving to love, to shape that love to my design, so that even if I were gone, it would become an extension of my will.” His eyes narrowed, molten and calculating. Yes, draw her closer—teach her, test her.

Setekh leaned forward, his breath warm against her cheek, taking in her scent as reverently as he always did. “And you,” he said, his tone shifting to a velvet caress, “Do you wish to know this hunger—to claim it and wield it in your own form?” he pulled back just enough to watch her reaction, “Can you bear the weight of it? Can you let it sing through your veins without letting it devour you whole?”

His smile deepened, the curve of his lips both promising and challenging. The voices within thrummed in approval, they chant a quiet drumbeat against the pulse of his control. Teach her, lead her, bind her in this dance—see how far she will follow.

"speaking" | voices

Sericea felt a shiver ripple through her at Setekh's words, his honeyed voice both a caress and a subtle warning. She sensed the threads of power woven into his praise, binding her ever tighter to his vision. A part of her wanted to shy away from the intensity of his gaze, to retreat into the safety of her youth. But a larger part craved his approval, hungered for the dark promise in his words. She felt the weight of Setekh's question settle upon her like a mantle, heavy with unspoken expectations. She met his molten eyes, her resolve solidifying. "I will earn it," she declared, each word firm and unwavering. The vulnerability he had pointed out wasn't a weakness; it was a launching pad. She could feel the pulse of strength within her—hidden, waiting to be unleashed.

Sericea began to move again, her body shifting with purpose as she navigated the space between them, her tail held high, a banner of her growing ambition. "If worth is earned, then I must find my path," she asserted, echoing his earlier sentiment back at him. "Show me how to carve out my place in this world, Grandfather. I am ready to embrace the fire." She found herself stepping closer, a magnetic pull drawing them together, caught in the gravity of his perceived power.

Sericea felt the weight of his gaze pressing upon her, that slow smile igniting a fire beneath her skin. There was power in the way he spoke, a commanding rhythm that stirred something deep within her. "Then how do you seek it?" she countered, her voice steady as she leaned closer, challenging him with her proximity. "Is it through chaos? Or perhaps through the loyalty of those you deem worthy?" Her heart raced with every heartbeat, each pulsation echoing with the thrill of the challenge laid before her.

She broke away from their dance for an instant, allowing the air to amplify the tension between them. The vibrant hues of autumn painted the landscape around them, but here in this moment, the air was thick with something far more potent—ambition and desire. "You speak of worth as if it’s a treasure buried deep. But tell me, Grandfather," she said, her voice a hushed whisper, "how does one uncover such hidden gems within themselves?" With each question, her curiosity burned brighter, fueling her resolve like kindling tossed into flames. Sericea pressed on, leaning closer again, a playful challenge dancing in her acidic green eyes.

Sericea felt the warmth of his nearness envelop her, a tempting cloak woven from strands of power and desire that fluttered ahead like a veil. The air crackled as his words sank in, wrapping around her thoughts and igniting a flicker of comprehension in her mind. "To shape love to your design," she repeated softly, her voice nearly lost in the rhythmic pulse of her heart. "But at what cost, Grandfather? What sacrifices do you make to feed this beast that lives within you?"

The autumn winds swirled through the valley, carrying with it the scent of wet earth and crisp leaves, yet Sericea remained anchored in the intensity of his gaze, that smoldering inferno that dared her to delve deeper into his truths. Uncertainty bubbled beneath the surface of her courage, but she fought to keep it at bay. “Do you carve those you love into something unrecognizable?” she pressed, each word emerging with a careful boldness as she wrestled with the implications of his philosophy.

Sericea felt the echo of his question reverberate in her chest, a low thrum that moved through her like a wild wind rushing between canyon walls. The gravity of his gaze drew her closer, the captivating allure of his challenge spinning webs of intrigue around her thoughts. “To wield it…” she breathed, every syllable laced with the essence of her curiosity. “Would I become a master or just another pawn in this game?”

With an impetuous flick of her bushy tail, she danced away from him, creating distance but maintaining the tension between them, the invisible thread taut and quivering. “What does it mean to own such a hunger, Grandfather?” she asked, the weight of his presence still palpable, wrapping around her like a lingering shadow. “Does it not bleed into everything you touch? Each interaction, each endeavor—do they not carry the mark of your insatiable craving?”

She turned back to face him, her expression caught between eagerness and skepticism, the acidic green of her eyes sharpening with resolve. Every instinct urged her to push further, to peel back the layers that shrouded his true intentions. “If you have molded love into an extension of your will,” she continued, her voice steadying like a bowstring drawn taut, “what remains of the original? Is that love still love, or merely a reflection of your desires?”

"Sericea Praetor-Inferos"

Setekh stood frozen in that intoxicating moment, the weight of Sericea’s words piercing him as effectively as a blade. She spoke with a voice that mirrored his own, each question laced with ambition. For a fleeting heartbeat, he felt an unfamiliar sensation stir in the depths of his chest—a pang that was both thrilling and foreboding. So, so much like her mother—and yet so much more.

Her boldness wrapped around him like a snare, binding him to her words. The cadence of her voice, the glint of challenge in her eyes—he realized, with a pulse of growing obsession, that she had taken his lessons, his warnings, and was wielding them back at him with a precision that left him breathless. It was unlike anything he’d experienced before. A grin, sharp and wolfish, broke across his face as she echoed his philosophy back to him, turning the very essence of his being into a question of her own making.

“My dear,” he said, his voice deepening, the purr almost lost in the storm of emotions roiling inside him. His gaze softened, not with tenderness but with a dark, reverent admiration. “There are sacrifices, yes. To feed this beast is to bleed willingly, to sever pieces of oneself, to ingrain yourself into another until what remains is stronger, eternal.”

He reached out, tracing the space where she had stood moments before, feeling the ghost of her presence there. The Ivory God hummed in thought, before the words dripped from his lips in silken warmth. “And you—” his voice caught, only to grow more resolute, more heady, “you have begun to understand this, haven’t you? After all, it is with love that I have taken you under my wing.” Twist and bind, let her break, let her soul be yours to take!

Setekh's eyes, molten and hungry, absorbed Sericea’s steady voice as if drinking from a wellspring. Every word she spoke was a spark that lit a fire in him, one that he could never let die. His smile curved indulgently, carrying a shadow of something wicked. He let the silence hang, crackling with unsaid truths. Truths she was too young to bear. “You speak with a mind far beyond your years… So perhaps you can understand me in a way none ever have,” he murmured, tracing the defiance that shaped her expression with his blazing gaze. “And that, Sericea, is why I shall tell you the truth.” Trust and fall, hear the plea—be bound by fate, never free!

“Love, as most know it, is fleeting—a wisp in the wind, vulnerable to decay and doubt. It lies. It abandons. It leaves deep wounds that may never heal. But my love transcends those limits of mere meager emotion. It becomes perfect, unlike any other. It becomes my strength, and in turn I empower my beloved ones in return.” He stepped forward, closing the distance she had created, using his presence as a chain to bind her to her place—disallowing her to retreat again. “The way I shape love is to make it unyielding, to carve it into a monument that stands long after flesh has withered and time has dulled the world to gray.” His voice dipped lower, rich and insistent. Beckoning her understanding, urging her to see what he knew to be true. “Yes, it leaves its mark, yes, it bleeds into all I touch. But it also ensures that what I love cannot be forgotten, cannot be lost. It lives as I live, I live as it lives, through each sacrifice, each act of dominance, each flame of need stoked. And it will continue on.” Step by step, claim her grace, leave no part without a trace!

Setekh leaned closer, the warmth of his breath licking against her fur as he spoke, eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that meant a choice, a path or a deadend. “Do I carve those I cherish into something unrecognizable? Perhaps. But only because what is shaped becomes enduring. The original love, as you ask—” he tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, “—becomes more. It is not just a reflection of my desire; it is my desire, it is my will, immortalized and flawless.” Clay and blood, life and death, a symphony spun from your every breath!

His voice shifted, turning softer, the sharp edge of insanity glistening beneath each word. He watched her every move, knowing she had become the center of his thoughts, the pulse that drove him. “And to own this hunger, Sericea, is to understand that sacrifice is not loss—it is transformation. What remains is not diminished, but perfected, bound forever by the power that shaped it. But perfect nonetheless. Indomitable.”
He drew back to gauge her reaction, the slight shift in his posture a signal of the coiled energy still tethered to his being. Of action barely contained as he continued speaking. “So tell me, my sweet flame,” he whispered, each word like a brand, “What is your choice? Will you bear it? Will you understand that to be loved and wield such love is to know it is eternal, inescapable, a force that molds as it consumes?” Rise and claim, fall and break, no escape!!

The smolder in his eyes deepened, revealing the truth that even he could not deny. This was no longer about mere teaching; it was about binding her spirit to his, to ensure that his perfect, endless love would never be alone. And in return, she would be a work of art under his chisel and mallet.

"speaking" | voices

Sericea felt Setekh's words wrap around her like tendrils of smoke, both enticing and suffocating. His dark admiration burned through her, igniting a fire in her veins that threatened to consume her entirely. She stood transfixed, caught between the desire to lean into his praise and the instinctive urge to recoil from the implications of his philosophy. "Love," she repeated, the word tasting foreign on her tongue, as if it belonged to a language she had yet to fully grasp. "Is that truly what drives you, Grandfather?"

She took a step closer, emboldened by the flicker of surprise that danced across his features. "You speak of sacrifice, of bleeding willingly. But at what point does the beast consume its master? When does the pursuit of power become a prison of its own making?" Sericea's voice trembled slightly, betraying the weight of her own doubts. Yet she pressed on, determined to unravel the threads of Setekh's tapestry, to see the truth that lay beneath the intricate patterns he wove. "You say you have taken me under your wing out of love," she said, her gaze locked with his, refusing to yield. "But is it a love that nurtures, or one that seeks to mold me into a reflection of your own hunger? Am I truly your protégé, or merely another piece to be sacrificed on your altar of the beast?" Sericea stood transfixed, Setekh's words weaving a spell around her, drawing her deeper into the labyrinth of his twisted love. His proximity was overwhelming, his presence a physical force that held her in place, denying her the sanctuary of retreat. She felt the weight of his gaze upon her, stripping away the layers of her defenses until she was laid bare before him, exposed and vulnerable.

"A monument," she echoed, her voice barely a whisper. "But at what cost, Grandfather? To shape love into something unyielding, to bind it to your will - does that not rob it of its very essence? Its ability to grow and change, to adapt and evolve?" Sericea's mind raced, grappling with the implications of Setekh's philosophy. A part of her was enthralled by the power he promised, the allure of a love that could withstand the ravages of time and decay. But another part recoiled from the darkness that lurked beneath his honeyed words, the hunger that threatened to consume everything in its path.

"You speak of empowering your beloved ones," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "But is it truly empowerment, or merely another form of control? Another way to bend others to your will, to shape them into extensions of your own desires?" Sericea took a shuddering breath, steeling herself against the intensity of Setekh's presence. She met his molten gaze with a defiance that surged within her, lighting a fire in the pit of her stomach. The air thickened between them, laden with tension. She turned her head slightly, feeling the cool breeze brush against her cream-colored mane, an instinctive reminder that the world outside was still full of life—an element untouched by the shadow of his ambition.

But eventually, she felt the weight of Setekh's question settle upon her like a physical force, pressing down on her chest until she could scarcely breathe. His words, laced with a dark seduction, wound their way into her mind, beckoning her to surrender to the twisted love he offered. But even as a part of her yearned to embrace the power he promised, another part recoiled, sensing the danger that lurked beneath the surface. "I..." she began, her voice catching in her throat. She swallowed hard, trying to find the strength to voice the doubts that plagued her. "I want to understand, Grandfather. I want to wield the power you speak of, to shape love into something eternal and unyielding."

She met his molten gaze, her own eyes alight with a fierce determination. "But I fear the cost. I fear losing myself in the process, becoming nothing more than an extension of your will. Is that truly love, or merely possession masquerading as devotion?" Sericea took a step back, needing distance to clear her thoughts. The autumn breeze swirled around them, carrying with it the scent of change and decay. She shivered, feeling the weight of the choice before her settling upon her shoulders like a mantle. "I crave worth, Grandfather. I hunger for purpose and meaning. But I cannot surrender my very essence, my ability to grow and change, to become something more than what I am now." Sericea took a deep breath, her voice gaining strength as she continued. "If I accept your love, your tutelage, will there be room for me to find my own path? To shape my own destiny, even as I am shaped by your influence?"

She held Setekh's gaze, refusing to look away despite the intensity that burned within his molten eyes. "I am drawn to the power you offer, Grandfather. But I must know that in claiming it, I will not lose myself entirely. That there will still be a part of me that belongs to myself alone, untouched by the hunger that drives you." Sericea's heart raced, each beat a thunderous echo in her ears. She knew she stood on the precipice of a momentous decision, one that would shape the course of her life from this moment forward. The temptation to succumb to Setekh's dark allure was strong, tugging at her very soul. But an equal force pulled her back, whispering of the dangers that lay in surrendering too fully to his twisted philosophy. Find the answer most beneficial to you. It’s up to you to determine that. Her mother’s voice.

"I want to learn from you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want to grow in strength and skill, to become a force to be reckoned with. But I need you to promise me that in doing so, I will not be consumed. That I will still be Sericea, even as I become something more." She held her breath, waiting for Setekh's response. The air between them grew heavy with unspoken words, the silence stretching like a taut string ready to snap.

"Sericea Praetor-Inferos"

For a long moment, he said nothing, letting the silence fill the space between them, letting her feel the weight of his thoughts as they raced in his skull. And oh how they simultaneously brought him to ruin as well as sang his praises.

When he spoke, his voice was low, a velvet caress on the precipice of such a dangerous moment. “To question such a love is to know its danger, to understand the pulse of its hunger. It is to feel what I feel, to grasp the reins of what others cannot bear to touch. And yet you are here—undaunted.” Defiant, yet so pliant, She speaks as though she knows, she knows, she knows!

He lifted his gaze, his eyes gleaming, a molten abyss that mirrored her fiery resolve. "When I speak of sacrifice, it is not an empty word. It is a devotion. A certainty. Beast and master are interchangeable titles, and I shall bleed for you as you do for me." A smile curved his lips, a ghost of both pride and hunger, a smile that promised both mastery and ruin. The mask was cracking, his madness slipping through in drops of golden poison. Bleed for him! O’ bloody kin! Muck and mire, but such fire!

Setekh drew back the carved marble of his figure, his skull lifting to the skies, the heavens, a smile creeping to the edges of his maw. "The beast you speak of, the hunger—oh, but that is why you are here. To know its depths, to see its fangs, and, if you are strong enough, to wear them as your own." His gaze softened as it dropped back to her, not with gentleness but with a possessiveness, as though he were witnessing the birth of something untamed and beautiful. Something he believed was his.

She wanted power, yes, but she wanted it on her own terms, with a mind untouched by his guiding hand. Yet wholly of his own creation. And there was something beautiful, something worthy of reverence in that refusal. But he ached all the same. He desired her devotion, her whispered affection, and in due time he would have it.

A slow smile curled across his face, a smile devoid of mirth but filled with a predatory admiration instead. An artist admiring a work of art even as she backed away from him. “Very well, my sweet flame,” he said, his voice a low murmur that cut through the autumn air, dark and silken and full of heady restraint. The God knew how to bide his time, and she was a girl fresh upon this world afterall. “I will grant you this: if you can remain yourself, as you say, in the face of my influence, if you can retain your will and essence even as I teach you the depths of my philosophy and knowledge, then you will prove worthy of that freedom. But know that it will be a battle of wills—my hunger against yours.” Feed the beast, seek release! He speaks of battle, lest she be cattle!

He took a measured step towards her, testing her need for space, each word spoken now enunciated through his movement. “So I shall make this wager with you, Sericea: hold to yourself, your essence, if you can. If you are strong enough, then there will indeed be no problem. You’ll find your power without losing your soul, and I…” his voice dropped, an edge of amusement threading through his tone, “I will savor the challenge.”

A glint of something sinister, something untamable, shone in his molten gaze as he leaned closer. “But understand this—if you falter, if you find yourself drawn too deep, if you slip beneath the currents of my will, then I will take you whole, as a masterpiece to be shaped fully in my image. There will be no half-measures.”

The silence that followed was thick, molten, filled with the weight of his promise. He extended a paw, his claws gleaming, offering the gesture as if sealing an ancient pact as he cut in a downward motion through the air. “If you know the cost, and you accept it, then you have my word, Sericea. Keep your fire, if you are strong enough. I’ll promise not to consume you… unless you surrender willingly. Understand this, my dear, I do not lie. I never have, and never shall. Believe this, and in return, should I lose this wager: I offer my own soul. Destroy it, degrade it, detest it…” He felt a shudder roll down his spine at the thought, heat coiling at his nape. What a thought that was, a wager vastly unequal. Yet he felt his saliva pool in his mouth, tongue swiping against his fangs as he sighed wistfully. Travesty! Blasphemy!

He searched her face, every flicker of defiance and doubt feeding the dark delight in his chest. His voice softened, a twisted gentleness threading his words. “In the end, it will be you who decides. Whether you burn free or become a flame bound to me, it matters not. Because either way, my dear,” he paused, letting his smile turn sharp and possessive, “you will be magnificent. Radiant in every way, flawless as the sun and moon.” He coos, seeking her skull to press a kiss, warm and gentle atop her crown.

"speaking" | voices

Sericea stood her ground as Setekh's molten eyes bore into her, the air electric with the intensity of their exchange. His silence stretched on, leaving her caught in a web of anticipation and trepidation. When he finally spoke, his words were like a dark lullaby, enticing her deeper into his twisted philosophy. She felt a tremor run through her at Setekh's words, his velvet voice wrapping around her like a serpent's coils, dangerous yet alluring. She sensed the crack in his veneer, the golden poison of his madness seeping through, and it both terrified and thrilled her. To be the focus of such intense devotion, such consuming hunger - it was a heady feeling, one that threatened to sweep her away on a tide of dark desire. His voice a dark melody that resonated in her bones. The weight of his gaze pressed upon her, a tangible force that threatened to strip away her defenses and lay bare the deepest recesses of her soul. Yet even as a part of her quaked beneath the intensity of his scrutiny, another part rose to meet the challenge he laid before her.

"A battle of wills," she repeated softly, tasting the words on her tongue. The prospect was as exhilarating as it was daunting. To pit her own resolve against the sheer force of Setekh's hunger, to dance along the edge of his twisted philosophy without succumbing to its seductive pull - it was a test of her very essence, a crucible that would forge her into something new. She met his molten gaze, her acidic green eyes alight with a fierce determination. "I accept your wager, Grandfather," she declared, her voice steady despite the nervous energy thrumming through her veins. "I will learn from you, absorb every lesson you have to offer. But I will not lose myself in the process.” Sericea stood tall, her chin lifted defiantly as she met Setekh's piercing gaze. "My essence, my will - they are my own. And I will fight tooth and nail to preserve them, even as I walk the path you lay before me."

A thrill raced through her at the thought of the challenge ahead, of testing the limits of her own strength against the seductive pull of Setekh's dark tutelage. It was a dangerous game they played, mentor and student- sacrifice and god- dancing along the knife's edge of power and control. But Sericea was determined to emerge victorious, to prove herself worthy of the destiny she craved.

"Teach me, Grandfather," she implored, her voice a husky whisper laden with anticipation. "Show me the depths of your knowledge, the intricacies of your philosophy. Mold me into a force to be reckoned with. But know that even as I bend, I will not break. I will remain Sericea.” undiminished and unconquered. She took a step closer, the space between them crackling with tension. Sericea held Setekh's molten gaze, transfixed by the intensity that burned within. His words hung in the air between them, a dark promise laden with both danger and temptation. She felt the gravity of the pact they were forging, the weight of her own resolve pitted against the sheer force of his will.

"I understand," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know the cost, and I accept it willingly. I will keep my fire, Grandfather. I will not let it be consumed, no matter how deep I delve into your teachings." She reached out, her paw hovering just above his extended claws, the air humming with the unspoken connection between them. "And if I should falter," she continued, her voice growing stronger, "if I should slip beneath the currents of your will, then my soul is forfeit. I will become your masterpiece, shaped in your image."

The weight of her words settled upon her like a mantle, heavy with the gravity of the path she had chosen. But beneath the trepidation, a flicker of exhilaration igniting. Sericea held Setekh's gaze as she slowly lowered her paw, allowing it to rest lightly on his extended claws. The contact sent a jolt through her, a spark of something primal and electric. In that moment, the pact was sealed, their fates intertwined in a dance of power and peril. "I accept your terms, Grandfather," she declared, her voice ringing with a newfound resolve. "My soul for yours, should I falter. But know that I will fight with every fiber of my being to preserve my essence, to emerge from your behest unbroken and unbowed."

A shiver raced down her spine as she held his molten gaze, the weight of their wager hanging heavy in the air between them. She knew the risks, the danger of losing herself entirely to the seductive pull of his twisted philosophy. But the promise of power, of becoming a force to be reckoned with, was too alluring to resist. Sericea felt a tremor run through her at the touch of Setekh's lips upon her crown, a gentle gesture that stood in stark contrast to the dark intensity of their exchange. His words, laced with a twisted affection, wrapped around her like a cloak of both promise and peril.

"Magnificent," she echoed softly, the word a whisper on her lips. The weight of his expectations settled upon her shoulders, a mantle of destiny that she yearned to embrace. Yet even as a part of her preened under his praise, another part recoiled, sensing the danger that lurked beneath the surface. She drew back slightly, meeting his molten gaze with a defiance that burned bright in her acidic green eyes. "I will burn, Grandfather," she declared, her voice steady despite the rapid beat of her heart. "But it will be a fire of my own making, fueled by the power you impart but not consumed by it."

Sericea lifted her chin, a flicker of pride igniting within her. She knew the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, with temptations that sought to lure her from her chosen course. But she was determined to prove herself worthy.

"Sericea Praetor-Inferos"