<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>The oracle to whom he was speaking was blind, but that didn't stop Elliot from frowning at her. He had traveled quite a long way to see her, because she had made him very grandiose promises of power and wisdom, but so far all she had given him was doubt. And disappointment. Elliot did so hate to be disappointed. Large hands smoothed, unnecessarily, over the impeccable lapels of his tailored suit. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>"So that's it?" he said, glaring down from where he towered over her. "There's no catch? No ultimatum?" He sounded suspicious because he was. The things he wanted never came without a price. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>"That's it," the seer repeated, not bothering to pretend to look at him. Clouded eyes never drifted from the scattering of obsidian shards in front of her. Elliot leaned forward, bracing himself with one hand against her table, and the other on the back of her chair. "If you are lying to me," he murmured, low and deliberate against her ear even though they were alone, his own green eyes scanning the room in front of him. "I will come back for you, and I will kill you with my own hands." </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:center;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]?</span><span style="font-size:10pt;]?
</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>"So, that's it?" Decland asked, giving Elliot a taste of his own medicine for once. Had he known the phrase was so annoying he might not have uttered it. Or maybe it was only annoying when Decland said it. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>"One would usually expect a bit more enthusiasm when in the presence of a tome of dark magicks," Elliot responded, instead of answering the question. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>"Yeah, but it's just a book." Decland moved the torch he held higher, attempting to light the room better. "You have a fuckton of books," he continued, complaining all the while as Elliot ignored him. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>"What were you expecting?" Elliot shot back, breaking out of his thoughtful posture to gesture at the lynx. "Like a fucking fairy? Or some kind of magic well?"</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>Decland glared back at him, Elliot scoffed and turned his attention back to the intricate grimoire. "It took me months to find this place," Decland started again, Elliot groaned in a very obvious 'oh god, not again,' way; a gravelly noise in his throat. "There were fucking trapdoors and shit. I had to answer fucking riddles, Elliot. RIDDLES-"</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>"And I am sure it was very difficult for you," the prince interrupted, intentionally missing the point of his guardsman's speech. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>"I had a spike through my foot, Elliot."</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>"Yes, and I thank you for the thousandth time for your suffering, but would you please just shut the fuck up for five minutes so I can concentrate?"</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>Decland closed his open mouth, but didn't bother looking happy about it. Elliot mouthed words of gratitude, looking beyond relieved as he circled the podium that the tome rested upon. Not quite leather in the color of coagulated blood. Insofar unable to be retrieved, but with each attempt the spirit lingering in the back of Elliot's mind pushed and twisted in violent protest. He hovered fingers over the faded ouroboros. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>"What the fuck are we looking for, now, anyway?"</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>"Oh my fucking god, Decland. I swear if you say another word I will kill you."</span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>They weren't looking for anything, they were done looking. Elliot had found the book, and he knew what he had to do to get it. But he was still hesitant. A wealth of power was at his fingertips. Power that had been ill-controlled and sealed away; the prince wasn't exactly looking to be another victim. Rushing into this would only end horribly for him. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> However, h</span>e had never been scared of a risk before, and there was certainly no need to start now. Weathered parchment was pulled from his pocket, and unfolded to reveal ancient runes that he had spent months translating. Scanning the symbols he'd already committed to memory, Elliot descended the platform and closer to Decland. The lynx only raised a brow to him in response, since he had finally taken shutting up to heart. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>Elliot pulled an intricately engraved athame from the sheath against Decland's thigh and held out a hand expectantly. The other man obediently draped his wrist across the prince's palm. He didn't bother rewarding acquiescence with gratitude as he drew the knife across Decland's skin, already blemished with the marks of rituals past. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>Blood stained the blade and spilled into Elliot's open hand. When he was satisfied, he pulled away, leaving his guard to tend to his own wounds. Returning to the top of the dais, Elliot smeared the blood he'd collected around the circumference of the book's pedestal. He then sliced is own finger, kneeling to draw the runes from the parchment closer to the base. Finished, he straightened his posture, using the knife one last time to lengthen the cut from his index finger, and across the lifeline of his palm. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>The blood was a ritual, not a sacrifice; a binding, not an offering. The words he chanted were a contract, not a plea. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]<span style="font-size:10pt;]<span> </span>There was very little Elliot would not do to get what he wanted. </span>[/align]<div style="text-align:justify;]
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I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.
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