In the opulent dining room of Fairview's most lavish VIP suite, a woman dined. With care, she brought her knife across her plate, slicing the meat and releasing a flood of red juices. She brought the nearly raw meat to her delicate lips.
She swiped a lock of vermilion hair from her eyes before sipping her burgundy wine.
"Tell me... whatever your name is. Why have you come?" Purity spoke, her voice dripping with pride.
Jerath didn't dare raise his head. "M'Lady, he's back! The boy, Maple's returned!"
Her eyes lit up with barely restrained malice. "Where?"
"He's at the pit! Right now, with my boss."
"Leave."
Bowing incessantly, the poor barkeep all but ran out of the room, heading toward the door.
Two curt knocks fell on the door.
Jerath opened the door to leave, narrowly stopping himself from ramming into a food cart.
The attendant behind the cart was elderly. Old enough to be a grandfather.
"Complimentary bottle service and a tasting tray. We thank you for your patronage, sir."
Jerath nodded, taking the cart and bringing it into the living room adjacent to the dining room before doubling back.
Purity sat quietly, chewing her meal slowly.
'I'll relish the taste of your blood, Maple... You and those filthy Emissaries.'
Looking out at the wall-to-ceiling window overlooking a nearby park, she thought idly.
Red leaves, like rust, rustled beneath the sky as she scrutinized the large tree in the center. Its tall branches sprawled upwards as if to grasp the sky.
Crows perched, their eyes flickering with malevolence as their caws reverberated like a death omen.
Purity took off a dainty silken glove, revealing a twisted and gnarled imitation of a hand. Where once was youthful skin, now was black ashen flesh, with nails like talons.
Clutching her fist hard enough to draw blood, she smiled.
'My life is forfeit... I've consumed two seeds.'
In her youth, she had been taken in by the cult. They had given her everything. All they asked was her loyalty. Back then, things weren't so bad. The cult's only real goal was the proliferation of potions to the masses.
They sought a world where power was free to any who dared to take it. She and Jack had believed in that dream; for it was by the potions' grace they found salvation.
Two years ago, their leader began preaching a new gospel. He came with lofty words and fancy ideals, telling them they must change lest they be eradicated by the church.
That the Great Mother did not wish to see them prosper; she would set her wards against them.
They had only a couple of bases back then, perhaps forty members. The church did not mind them; they looked the other way.
Yet one night, they were attacked. Dark figures prowled the night, seeking their throats with righteous blades. Fire consumed their houses; children were put to the blade.
Mothers burned at the stake. Men were abducted, their destination unknown.
That was when everything changed. Florence, their leader, was outraged. He began to rally all who would listen beneath his banner.
Though they had been nearly extinguished, some remained. From that root, a tree soon sprouted. Now, their forces were innumerable; they were neigh legion beneath the stars.
Standing before a suitcase, she opened it and took out an obsidian dagger with a silver pommel.
Her eyes were clouded with memories of the past as she approached a tall double-door wardrobe. Grasping her left hand, she waited for the convulsions to stop. It was getting all too frequent now.
Opening the wardrobe, she glanced at the bound woman within. The woman's eyes were wide with fear, her chest heaving and nearly hyperventilating; the sight was exhilarating! Simply divine.
"Rejoice; your sorrow has come to an end," she spoke with a twisted benevolence. Raising her hand, she stabbed the woman straight in the heart. Hot, bright red blood gushed forth as her heart pumped itself dry.
Her left hand twitched, spasming with a mind of its own, before she thrust it straight through the woman's body.
Clenching her fist, she shook the worthless corpse off; it fell lumpy against the wardrobe. The woman's eyes were wide with horror, unable to even let out a sound. Her body was cold already, the dagger having drained her dry.
Purity opened her fist, a ravenous expression adorning her face. Her eyes lit up with delight as she gazed upon the freshly nurtured demonic seed.
This was what Florence had used to rally the cult to such heights. Magical seeds capable of drinking lives and granting immense power. The only way to cultivate them was through sacrifice.
Yet fate always exacts a price for what it bestows. It was only after the core members had all consumed one that their "righteous" leader informed them of the consequences.
The seeds would not stop feeding to project their powers. If one did not consume ripe flesh, it would seek them instead. If the seed ever grew too large, demonification began.
First, she began thinking strange things. Looking at her friends as if they were cattle. Then, she began to grow arrogant, mundane humans sinking beneath her stature.
Her actions grew irrational; if not for Jack, she wouldn't have survived.
He had always been her light, the only salvation she had in this cruel world.
In his embrace, her heart felt full. In her heart, there was only ever him.
"Why did you take him from me? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?" She screamed, smashing the wardrobe violently, crumbling the door into splinters.
She raised the dark demonic seed to her lips; a gnarled black seed with red veins. Swallowing hard, she let out an elated moan, her voice erratic.
Her eyes glowed momentarily, a ghostly crimson. The demonization advanced, spreading from her hand up her arm and into her bosom.
She gasped, her rapturous moans dying on her lips as pain sank through her, reverberating to her very core and rocking her like a hurricane. The seed's roots sunk deep within her, replacing her very soul, her flesh and mind.
We will be together soon, Jack, my love... wait for me...
"Haha! Hahahaha! A a a..."