Sins of the Father
Dec 11, 2020 20:25:21 GMT -5
Post by Haelys Celtaris on Dec 11, 2020 20:25:21 GMT -5
Haelys had expected something much different, such as a dank and morbid world with villains and prisoners. So when pink engulfed her vision and a strong aroma overwhelmed her breath, her eyebrows raised in confusion. The fact that she was in a sub-world with Tuk-tuk was odd enough, but she could hardly focus on the bird-man with the current circumstances.
All around her were beautiful yet strange things. Luxurious furniture like she had never seen before and so many striking figures. It was no surprise that Haelys felt easily at home in this particular portal. She was quick to relax her face and shoulders, strolling among the mist like she was its queen. The palms of her hands rotated outwards, fingers curling and grabbing the pink reaches in return. She seemed intrigued at the touch of the mist across her skin and dress.
She stopped walking forward when a voice spoke and the crowd parted, eyes studying the figure carefully.
Before the perfect being could finish, Haelys was already taking a seat upon a divan, leaning back into the touch of a chiseled mist-man. A smirk dusted her lips at the questions. The woman only ever focused on what she wanted. Asking her to reveal her desires was like asking her to breathe.
The mist crawled up to her feet as if she beckoned it forth. She lounged like she belonged here—like she might stay forever. The pink tendrils swirled and intertwined and twisted in all different directions as if not sure where they might go. Hundreds—thousands, even—of memories to choose from in that lustful mind of hers. And thousands to come, surely.
She did not choose which it showed, for she offered almost all of them freely with the promise of compensation.
The air shaped the mist to create a memory that had shaped the queen herself...
---
Sand. The mist laid itself out to form a sprawling ocean of sand. Desert plants were scattered in the background. A long platform rose up, as if some kind of stone red carpet. At the end of the platform sat a simple throne with curtains draping overhead. The female figure that sat upon it was dressed in elegant but thin clothing, suggesting it was a hot climate. Her long, straight hair was tied back in a tight ponytail. She held her head high, tall and proud. And yet, her legs were crossed so casually.
"When I give an order, you do exactly as I say, yes?"
"Yes, my queen." Said the man kneeling before her, eyes to the ground.
The woman in the throne rose up, moving forward with grace. She towered over the kneeling figure, watching him calmly. Her foot slowly lifted off the ground, touching the bottom of the man's chin and guiding it up so that he was staring up at her.
"You move as I tell you, when I tell you. When you are acting as my hands—under my command—you are not you. You are the grain of sand on the tip of my finger. And you are the most fortunate grain of sand there is."
"Yes, my queen. I am endlessly grateful to serve you. It will not happen again."
There was a moment of silence as she studied him, as if she could tell whether or not he was lying. When she was satisfied, she took a step back and gave him a nod.
"You may be on your way." The man rose to his feet, gave a deep and respectful bow, then left.
With that, the woman turned. Her face went from stern to happy and she opened her arms towards two guests watching on the sidelines.
"My apologies, Queen and Princess. You know as well as I do what duties must be done with our positions. Come! Let me show you the gardens, then we will feast."
The two guests wore dresses unlike the first woman. They were more modest and full. If one paid attention, they would note that the younger and smaller 'princess' figure that was referred to was indeed a young Haelys Celtaris. And if one had managed to peel their eyes away from the desert queen that had been speaking prior, they would have noticed that young Haelys's eyes were filled with enchantment and greed—absolutely fixated upon the scene before her.
She did not want the desert throne. She did not want to be like her mother. She did, however, wish to command the absolute power of the desert queen before her. She wanted to be beautiful, graceful, confident, served, revered as a goddess. And she wanted to be all of those things upon the throne her father currently occupied...
The mist fell as quickly as it had risen. The last figure that stood was a throne made of hundreds of swords—sharp, intimidating, hulking. It stood alone.
---
Haelys—the real Haelys—released a single huff-chuckle as she stroked a nearby mist-man.
"And it was all mine."
---
[word count: 835]
All around her were beautiful yet strange things. Luxurious furniture like she had never seen before and so many striking figures. It was no surprise that Haelys felt easily at home in this particular portal. She was quick to relax her face and shoulders, strolling among the mist like she was its queen. The palms of her hands rotated outwards, fingers curling and grabbing the pink reaches in return. She seemed intrigued at the touch of the mist across her skin and dress.
She stopped walking forward when a voice spoke and the crowd parted, eyes studying the figure carefully.
Before the perfect being could finish, Haelys was already taking a seat upon a divan, leaning back into the touch of a chiseled mist-man. A smirk dusted her lips at the questions. The woman only ever focused on what she wanted. Asking her to reveal her desires was like asking her to breathe.
The mist crawled up to her feet as if she beckoned it forth. She lounged like she belonged here—like she might stay forever. The pink tendrils swirled and intertwined and twisted in all different directions as if not sure where they might go. Hundreds—thousands, even—of memories to choose from in that lustful mind of hers. And thousands to come, surely.
She did not choose which it showed, for she offered almost all of them freely with the promise of compensation.
The air shaped the mist to create a memory that had shaped the queen herself...
---
Sand. The mist laid itself out to form a sprawling ocean of sand. Desert plants were scattered in the background. A long platform rose up, as if some kind of stone red carpet. At the end of the platform sat a simple throne with curtains draping overhead. The female figure that sat upon it was dressed in elegant but thin clothing, suggesting it was a hot climate. Her long, straight hair was tied back in a tight ponytail. She held her head high, tall and proud. And yet, her legs were crossed so casually.
"When I give an order, you do exactly as I say, yes?"
"Yes, my queen." Said the man kneeling before her, eyes to the ground.
The woman in the throne rose up, moving forward with grace. She towered over the kneeling figure, watching him calmly. Her foot slowly lifted off the ground, touching the bottom of the man's chin and guiding it up so that he was staring up at her.
"You move as I tell you, when I tell you. When you are acting as my hands—under my command—you are not you. You are the grain of sand on the tip of my finger. And you are the most fortunate grain of sand there is."
"Yes, my queen. I am endlessly grateful to serve you. It will not happen again."
There was a moment of silence as she studied him, as if she could tell whether or not he was lying. When she was satisfied, she took a step back and gave him a nod.
"You may be on your way." The man rose to his feet, gave a deep and respectful bow, then left.
With that, the woman turned. Her face went from stern to happy and she opened her arms towards two guests watching on the sidelines.
"My apologies, Queen and Princess. You know as well as I do what duties must be done with our positions. Come! Let me show you the gardens, then we will feast."
The two guests wore dresses unlike the first woman. They were more modest and full. If one paid attention, they would note that the younger and smaller 'princess' figure that was referred to was indeed a young Haelys Celtaris. And if one had managed to peel their eyes away from the desert queen that had been speaking prior, they would have noticed that young Haelys's eyes were filled with enchantment and greed—absolutely fixated upon the scene before her.
She did not want the desert throne. She did not want to be like her mother. She did, however, wish to command the absolute power of the desert queen before her. She wanted to be beautiful, graceful, confident, served, revered as a goddess. And she wanted to be all of those things upon the throne her father currently occupied...
The mist fell as quickly as it had risen. The last figure that stood was a throne made of hundreds of swords—sharp, intimidating, hulking. It stood alone.
---
Haelys—the real Haelys—released a single huff-chuckle as she stroked a nearby mist-man.
"And it was all mine."
---
[word count: 835]