Sharper than a serpants tooth (Closed, GF)

[Ar'ileth Yelkith]

Ar’ileth was simultaneously entertained, despaired, and heavily frustrated at the current goings on. Elensar was a whimpering little fool, barely worthy of cowering at her feet, and yet he did so, with the added audacity of pleading worship, of all things.

The vysstichi female glanced down upon him through uncaring eyes, wondering whether she should just be done, and cut him after all. Darling brother, however, soon intervened, winding his was over towards where poor Ilista stood, and pushing a blade into her hands.

Ar’ileth smiled. In her mind’s eye, she could begin to see how this play would emerge, and the taste of it within her thoughts was golden, a delectable treat.

“You wish to worship with me, pretty one?” Her voice came again, though this time it was softer, and with a certain quality unlike anything that Ilista had ever heard. Ab’reth would know that she was playing a certain game now, toying with the teleris as though he were little more than a pawn in her wretched, deviant plans.

One teasing finger drew a line, tracing downwards along Elensar’s neck from his ear, and across the sensitive gills. She moved in to follow the motion with her lips, then, tantalising flickers of the tongue to taste his throat.

“We will make a gift of you to Haya, Elensar. You would like that…wouldn’t you?”

The sea elf would not be able to argue either way, and besides, he had more pressing things to concern himself with now. Such as how the vysstichi pushed him back to the ground, climbing forwards to straddle his waist.

For a moment, her eyes drifted towards Ilista, and then Ab’reth, the smile on her face becoming more fiendish as they did. Below, her hips moved, slowly, as she stared into Elensar’s face. It was as though she almost dared him to fight back, or take control.

This was the start to it all, yes, but there would also be an end.

They could only hope that, once the time was right, their Ilista would be strong enough to send the man’s soul on its way.

[Ilista]

And when it felt as if her heart could not break any further, Ilista was sure she felt it as it shattered. Her worthless man at another woman’s feet, slaves or not, the whimpering and pleading was pitiful and the lack of attention infuriating. Ilista was not longer sure if her body tremble from grief, rage, or to simply tear itself apart and be rid of all these conflicting upheavals. How she wished, how she ached, for anything, to strike her betrayer dead, to bleed dry his heart as sharply as he bled hers.

Living flesh touched her form, and Ilistas’ gaze for a moment turn from the simpering dog that was once a man to the one who moved to hold her, Ab’reth. For a moment her rage urged to lick out, to cast the blame, for surely if there was any it was the dark elf, her Keeper, her Master. That would be something weak and foolish to do, and she was neither. Ilista closed her golden eyes for a moment to shut out the sight, and for a moment she could be safe in her darkness, could be lost in her sea, could be a part from that before her and take comfort in the touch that came when it was needed so very much.

She relished the contact on different levels, and strangely reminded the Telera of the touch Ar’ileth had imparted when Ilista had first entered the cell, despite the sexual overtones, his hand stroked her stomach, lips kissed her neck, and the cool trail of a blade made its path down her arm.

“You belong here; with us.”

The slave opened her eyes as Ab’reth spoke, and the small dagger was eased into her soft hand. Dagger in hand as the tall song of Yelkith held her close, Ilista had eyes, only for a ghost.

She watched Ar’ileth and the imposter with fading interest, but watched for that was all there was to do, she may had wished to remember those last moments of his life, but those had came to past long ago, and as her Mistress had said, this would make her stronger. Ilista stood compliant nestled in the arms around her as she waited, her lips curved slightly at a far off thought.

"I may live?" Her voice was soft, the small words floated as Ilista turned her head slightly to look to Ab'reth in question.

[Ab'reth Yelkith]

Quietly Ab’reth watched the exchange between his sister and Elensar with varying interest. He knew what was going to happen to the male. Elensar was going enjoy one of the greatest honors any male in Herozzal could receive. For a few perfect minutes he was going to be part of Ar’ileth Yelkith. He didn’t deserve her, and for a moment Ab’reth succumb to a jealous itch. He was half tempted to cross the room and slit the fool’s throat, like everyone else he wanted the sea elf dead.

Still, the way Ar’ileth looked at him, the way she talked to him, made it clear Elensar’s remaining time was short.

Ab’reth lifted his lips from Ilista’s neck and blew his elder a kiss, one that neither sea elf could see. She was a priestess in training. She was a student of Haya, and while part of him hated the process, Ar’ileth played the game beautifully.

It was only a moment’s pause that he gave his beloved sister, a glance, a kiss from across the room, unsure if she’d even notice. Ab’reth went back to work, gently adoring Ilista, and he didn’t pause again until she asked of her future in a small, fearful voice.

“I may live?” She asked, and in response Ab’reth went quiet. His grasp of the small elf lightened. He pulled away, slightly. His lips left Ilista’s neck, and then came a soft, pained sigh. The suggestion that they were going to kill her hurt him.

“Ilista, you share my bed. My sister cares for you… I care for you. You are loyal, and that loyalty is a rare thing in this world. That male isn’t worth your affection. He isn’t worth your devotion, but we would like to be.”

“We want you with us, to serve us, and we’ll do right by you. Give us your love, your loyalty, let us give you pleasure, a family, a home, and you will live for centuries.”

Ab’reth’s grip grew somewhat firmer again. He held her a little closer, a little tighter, and craned his neck to place a peck on the telera’s cheek. With only a whisper, he spoke to the small female.

“He isn’t worth your love Ilista. Ar’ileth will prepare him… she will ready him… but will you sacrifice Elensar when the time is right?”

Ilista had a chance to prove herself. She had a chance to give Elensar what he deserved.

What he deserved with a blade drawn across his throat, but what he got, for the moment, was a noblewoman’s touch.

As Ar’ileth asked if he would worship with her, there was only one response he could give. He couldn’t refuse them, not anymore. The thing to slip from the teleris was ‘yes mistress’. The way he said it though implied that he’d worship her, his goddess, rather than Haya, but it was good enough.

From there everything went as was to be expected. The male quivered, he shook, slightly as his mistress’ mouth, fingers and tongue ran over him.

“Yes mistress… make me a gift for Haya… give me to her.” Elensar was being a good little boy for Ar’ileth. He even managed to keep his hands off her, though he struggled with the temptation. Elensar wanted to touch her, to stroke, claw, and be with her, but he was a good boy.

He managed to control himself, for now.

As she shifted her hips back and forth, grinding into Elensar’s pelvis something was growing solid under the surface. He was nearly ready for her already. He was aching for her. He was aching for it. He wanted the end so badly he begged.

“Please Mistress Yelkith.”

[Ar'ileth Yelkith]

Ar’ileth for the most part ignored the two others in the room, aside from herself and Elensar. He was her bliss, for now; a momentary, fleeting existence which was not to get him far. Her brother’s kiss was rewarded with a deepening of her smile, a glimmer within crimson eyes. For all that she pleasured herself with the sea elf squirming beneath her now, Ab’reth was her only true joy, her only true love in this life. The teleris was inferior, as they all were.

This one, however, would serve a purpose in his demise. A gift from this princess to Haya, screaming as he soared to her embrace.

Ar’ileth prepared him, smiling playfully as her slow hips moved. As his body started to react, however, so too did she, rising onto her knees as she reached down, pulling the cloth of his trousers away. Elensar would be part of her, for a while, the dark female smiling as she lowered herself once again.

The movements were hastened this time, her crimson focus deathly intent. She had the sea elf in her sights and, as she went, she knew that she could bring him to the moment when she pleased.

Ilista would need to be ready soon, and Ar’ileth’s smile was wicked as their continued actions transpired.

She would bring him to a place he’d never known.

[Ilista]

Ilista held her breath as Ab’reths’ grip upon the telera lightened, to nothing more than feathered caresses. At the time it did not seem to be an absurd question, it just would be a rather twist of irony to be killed for killing. Even if Elensars’ life was truly hers, it would not be surprising to know that ownership would transfer, in all true honesty, it would be fitting. Her beloved had proven himself weak, in heart, as well as body, and cruel of mind. She would kill him for those weaknesses. So why would it not be surprising to be killed for her own shortcomings? All Ilista wanted was the knowledge in time to accept it.

Still Ab’reths’ words were small comfort, even though the sea elf was not sure the promise of a continued life pleased her, or the thought of her own ending, frightened her. She still felt cold, still felt like she was drifting in deep waters, with nothing but the jagged, numbing ache inside. It was true her tears no longer flowed, nor her chest trembled to draw breath, where it not for the dark elfs’ touch, the presence of the Yelkith twins, and even that of her wretched Elensar, mayhap she’d wish, she’d beg to fade away. To whatever dark place would take her, and hide away that gapping wound. To whatever god would have her from Materna to Jalat.

Ilista breathed again; small but there as did her heartbeat, as arms returned again, held her a little more closer, a little more tighten, amusing to think her Keeper knew to where her thoughts had gone. A simple, chaste kiss upon her cheek and Ilista blinked.

“He isn’t worth your love Ilista. Ar’ileth will prepare him… she will ready him… but will you sacrifice Elensar when the time is right?”

Her eyes focused, and had time to take in the sight of he who had once been made the center of her world. Lying beneath another. A part inside the telera wished to despair again and was quietly turned away. Those emotions took away the calm and the control the woman had spent her life building and mimicking. Rage could be tempered, revenge was being offered, the knife already lay in her hand.

Ilista nearly choked on words that never made it to sound, the others, her mistress and him, there and now. Her hands had raised one with blade and the other without, uncertain whether the telera sought to push aside Ab’reths’ arms, or to cling to them even as her nails began to dig lightly into his flesh.

The slave was not new to sex, Ab’reth had seen to that, the concept of polygamy, sharing, neither were shocking or surprising, for it happened and had been a way of life even before she left her home, and although she would admit the dark ones put that to far greater public practice than her people. Ilista could admire many a form either of sex and still be moved, could share, could lay with her Keeper, her Master, and have no jealousy to the relations and affections that passed between he and Mistress Ar’ileth.

But how hot she felt, her eyes and face had reddened from her tears before, but now her skin felt a flame. How could they? How could he? Had his heart really hardened and turned from her, she who had been his neighbor, his friend, his intended. He, who she had set aside all others for, had given up everything for, to now be insulted, and rejected again and again? Perhaps, foolishly she had held out, in her still wounded heart of hearts, for a chance to reconcile, for a chance to see her sweet beloved again.

“I will.”

[Ab'reth Yelkith]

Elensar was quiet at first; he shifted, submitted under Ar’ileth’s manipulations. He’d been trained, well trained, but even all the conditioning he’d received, the orders to remain still, to be submissive to the female, they failed when instinct came into play.

The slave had been stripped of much of his soul, his morality, love for his partner, but he was still an animal. He still had needs. He had a want to mate, to breed, to sow himself in the noblewoman’s womb, and all his needs started to surface. Their training was starting to crack as the male submitted to the physical pleasures. He started to make noise. First there was a little gasp, then a moan, and with each passing moment Ar’ileth could see the male losing himself.

He was bucking with her, his hands dared to touch her; they ran up under her dress, clawing her, teasing her, begging her for a little more.

Ab’reth, however, educated Ilista into what he understood of the sacrifice. He spoke softly, respectfully. This was a religious rite. It demanded respect.

“I knew you would.” He spoke gently, supportively, though there was simply no other reasonable choice she could make. She belonged in Herozzal now, and as she slit Elensar’s throat she’d seal herself into this life. Could she ever go home again with his blood on her hands?

“Now, as he reaches his peak. Slit his throat and drive the blade into his heart.”

“Let him go to Haya.”

Ab’reth unwrapped his hand from Ilista’s middle, and his other hand moved to her hip. He stepped slowly, easing the telera forward towards the sacrifice.

It was hers to offer up.

[Ar'ileth Yelkith]

Leaving Ilista and her brother to their own, private game, Ar’ileth was instead busy in dealing with the sea elf male. He had behaved himself, for a time, but now that precious state of resolve was slipping. Perhaps he could not help it, perhaps he was too weak, but this was not how he had been trained. His lust would grow to an almost painful point, and she would deny him any contact of the flesh; not unless she alone chose it.

Elensar had acted unaccordingly, and so he would be punished. His hands were not fit to touch her- his goddess, his desire, his thirst- and as the young female smiled, his reprisal would slowly be shown.

Ar’ileth had drawn her dagger, its surface a dull glint in this space. Canting her head to one side, guiltless and gullible as a kitten, the female then lowered herself to his ear, tongue lapping at the lobe before a whisper came, tantalisingly soft.

“You did not behave, pretty one…” She informed him, before, without warning, once toying teeth bit down, hard, into the fleshy surface of his ear. Simultaneously, the dagger was plunged down into the shoulder at his left, Ar’ileth forcing the blade down, even as her hips continued their work.

The vysstichi was laughing now, a strangely lilting, musical thing. She was delighting in this masterpiece of pleasure and of pain, crimson eyes alight for all the darkness of this deed.

“Now…Behave.” She smiled, warningly, before her gaze flicked towards Ilista, instead. It was time, and she needed to be here, and prepared.

[Ilista]

“Now, as he reaches his peak. Slit his throat and drive the blade into his heart.”

“Let him go to Haya.”

Truthfully she rather do it now, while her rage still burned hot, Ilista did not care to continue to watch Elensar continue his pleasures. Were it not for her anger that telera surely would have turned away, the pieces of her heart finely ground dust. Still she minded Ab'reths' word for they gave structure, a task for her mind to focus upon. Left to her own devices Ilista would be dying a death all her own, despite the earlier assurances otherwise. How sweetly rage whispered to the slave, why should Elensar be the only one to pay, why should it be only his blood she spilt?

Ilista did not believe anything happened without her Keepers' knowledge, and indeed surely he could have spared her this. Had Ilista not been willing and compliant. She had not whimpered and cried. She had not been difficult, or schemed for making her way back to the surface.

Moving slowly, Ilista's form came forward with the gentle pressure from Ab'reths' arm, toward Ar'ileth and the offending Elensar. There was still the dark Mistress as well, she had been genuinely fond of the dark female, although she would admit the female could be down right terrifying, it still pained the telera at the ache of betrayal she felt not only from the dead man but her Mistress as well.

The delicate jaw of the telera clenched, indeed it seemed Elensar was enjoying himself with the noble woman, he had gone from making grunts and groans to the wandering, griping, touching of hands. Her hand tightened on the dagger as the telera took a quiet step forward away from Ab'reth, she might just kill her faithless man now. Peak or no. Alas Ar'ileth covered the teleris chest and face, and surprisingly drove her own dagger into the males' shoulder.

Ar'ileth laughed, speaking to the man beneath her, but her eyes glanced to Ilista, a reminder of the task at hand. Slowly Ilista knelt and eased her body forward her thighs rested on either side of Elensars' head, the dagger was ready as was her free hand ready to grasp the fair colored strands of hair and expose the vital expanse of flesh. Ilista would hold the blade alone, and would end her love, would return his gift, and would relish the warm blood spray, even as she drove the blade into his chest, and wrench it back out. But until then she had eyes only for Ar'ileth, and she smiled.

She wouldn't raise a hand to her dear ones, no indeed, just the opposite.

[Ab'reth Yelkith]

Elensar was a fool. He’d been a fool for eras. He’d left the sea to wander the surface world. He exposed himself to its dangers, and indirectly he exposed those who cared for him as well. It was because of him that this happened. It was his folly that delivered him into Herozzal, into the house of Yelkith, and into this sad situation.

He was a fool to touch Ar’ileth, but he paid the price as her dagger drove itself down into his shoulder. He screamed. The male bellowed from the bowels of his crippled being. He screamed in pain, in pleasure. Tears were coming to his eyes and a hint of blood flowed out of his wound.

Elensar took his hands from Ar’ileth, but he didn’t stop pushing. All he said was a barely audible “Yes Mistress.”

He was being good for her again. He learned his lesson, his final one.

Elensar was lost into Ar’ileth.

Then along came a Telera. Ilista sat facing Ar’ileth, and in one, swift, almost trained motion, raked Ab’reth’s blade across her mate’s throat. There was a slight spray of blood as the tiny sea elf turned the knife up again. Half a dozen droplets of his blood struck Ar’ileth and Ilista each. One ran down Ar’ileth’s cheek like a tear as she finished pleasuring herself on the dead man who hadn’t realized his death had come, and two met with Ilista’s neck and nose.

She drove the dagger down into his chest, Ar’ileth took the child’s hand and helped her guide it into place.

Blood trickled from his neck, from his chest, and Elensar’s eyes went dead, but deep inside, Ar’ileth had the last hint of the slave’s life. His body was dead, but in his last seconds he left a little warmth in the noblewoman.

He was growing stiff as a corpse.

Ab’reth came to his sister’s side as she sat, balanced on Elensar’s corpse. One of his hands eased the knife away from Ilista, and the other wrapped around Ar’ileth lovingly. He kissed his sister’s neck, wanting for her.

“You did well Ilista, didn’t she sister?”

[Ar'ileth Yelkith]

Ar’ileth was so very pleased as their sea elf drew the blade across Elensar’s neck, and it showed. Her eyes were alight with life and joviality both, her laughter beautiful as it sailed with the spray of crimson blood. She did not mind the splatter in the least; indeed, if anything it simply drew her on. The priestess in training simply continued as she was, though her gaze was upon Ilista now, rather than the teleris’ cold, dead eyes.

Her brother’s touch was a welcome embrace, his kisses chilling as they whistled down her spine. Ar’ileth remained caught in the moment, having not yet reached her peak, but he was here to help her now. Beloved Ab’reth was here to ensure that everything turned out fine, and that she would not be denied the heaven she lusted for, within the warmth of her thighs.

“You have done very well, Ilista…We are pleased.” She breathed, apparently not caring for the fact that she was both speaking and pleasuring herself at the same time.

Then, a certain question arose, and a rather curious one at that, given that vysstichi were not meant to care overly for their slaves.

“How do you feel?”

Her movements were deliberate and slow again now, as though she were doing nothing less innocent than rocking back and forth on a chair, or knitting haphazardly as she spoke. It was simply one of those things, incredibly casual and a joy; the vysstichi female continued to have her fun with the corpse, in spite of the fact it was just that.

[Ilista]

It was done. Two hearts were lost in the light spray of blood and lovely laughter. Ilista breathed as the dagger was taken away from her still clenched hand, she almost did not want to part with the blade. The slaves’ lips turned upward at the corners slightly, as if the thought of smiling entered her mind. The twins praised her, but it was unsettling to watch Ar’ileth continue her motions on the death teleris. She could not call it as body, or it, at the very least, he was a teleris, and perhaps the last of her kind she would ever see again. Her eyes lowered as the noble child asked Ilista how she felt.

How did she feel? Ilistas’ eyes rested on the slacken face of one who had at one time, a long time, meant so much to her. With her bloody hand, the slave closed the dead mans’ eyes, she pressed, tempted to press until they erupted and even in death allow the male to be blind and unable to see the new form she took. . The telera left bloody fingerprints on his eyelids, and with tender motion smeared the drying blood on her hand down the dead mans’ cheek.

In the end her light hazel eyes had seen a beast, he had not loved her as she had loved him, had not mourned the lost of her, as she had once despaired his. It was true Ilista had allowed another to take his place, accepted it, and gave her servitude and body willingly, but had remained faithful in her heart to one such as he. Had remained so until the moment she was certain to take what was hers. And even in death, his betrayal lived on.

A tendril of curling ebony and sea green hair fell forward as the slave looked at the dead man before her. How did she feel to have taken the life of another, one who had at one time long ago been her friend, been her love? How did she feel about the realization of how fragile ones’ heart could be, even when their spirit and strength had once seemed incomparable? Or how arrogant, and willing to lie to herself she might be?

Ilistas’ hands smoothed down the corpses chest, making her give into perverse curiosity. So quickly it felt like the body was cooling, missing something vital, missing that spark of life that left the skin and muscles beneath her hand foreign and alien to her touch.

Merely four red wounds marred the still form before her, one from Ar’ileths hand, and three from her ravaged heart. How did she feel?

“Unsatisfied.” The voice lilted, but sounded puzzled, as even to herself the feeling was hard to explain. She should be mourning, for so much. Be ashamed of herself and her actions. Repulsed by Ar’ileths’ torment of the dead. And strangely, all she could find was that it was not enough. Elensar had struck her so very deeply, had betrayed not only her and the future they could have made, but also his own family and tribe that had loved him, yet he died in such an, embrace. It had not been enough. And now he was dead and it was done. It was quiet unfair the only scream that left his mouth had been for the mere gull to touch. There were so many other crimes he should had been punished for, but it was done.

Ilista frowned, in fact the sea slave pouted, a thing she had not done since she had came to this land, and it was such a pretty, frustrated pout.

“He did not deserve such a gift.” That was said more firmly as the telera skirted the tip of her finger along the edges of the knife wound that had struck through Elensars’ heart. It felt… uplifting to admit that, for his death indeed had been a gift to him, and left so many things unpunished.

[Ab'reth Yelkith]

Sweet Ilista. Good little Ilista.

The young woman had done well. She’d made them proud, and Ar’ileth and Ab’reth both felt a certain pride as she’d slit her lover’s throat. They felt a certain attachment for the young woman. She’d proven herself to them, and she could be sure that neither of them would forget that anytime soon.

Ab’reth was enjoying the feel of his sister moving up and down in front of him. He liked to feel her body quiver in the small ways as she enjoyed herself. He was somewhat jealous of the corpse, but wouldn’t complain. They’d surely play their games later. Little brother only tried to help her along. His hands slipped under his elder’s dress. They ran across her skin, touching the places where she loved to be touched. Ab’reth tried to make it better.

He wanted to be sure Ar’ileth was satisfied. Ilista, she’d come in time.

The male’s focus shifted to his sister for a few seconds, in such completeness that he failed to understand the telera’s statement. She felt unsatisfied? It was a shame that she felt so denied. Ab’reth looked pained as the thought set in. His hands were on his sister, and he just pulled his lips from her beautiful neck, and pouted in return to Ilista.

He didn’t know what he could say.

“Ilista…” Ab’reth went quiet. He wasn’t known for his long discussions. He didn’t have any wondrous thoughts. That was up to Ar’ileth.

[Ar'ileth Yelkith]

Ar’ileth simply continued to watch the sea elf, smiling, until she had had her fill, the corpse’s seed deep inside. There was a pleased smile, satisfied, for a time, though she did not move, did not rise from the seat of her dead lover just yet. Instead, she listened to Ilista speak of how she felt, how she felt unfulfilled in face of her once-beloved’s death. The sea elf had killed, and yet that was all that she felt. The vysstichi female was amused by that; apparently she did not experience horror, or guilt.

What Ar’ileth had planned for next, however, might have turned the situation a tad. Calming her mind in the aftermath of her delight, the female entered meditation.

The dark princess was about to cast a spell.

Her brother would not disturb her, and Ilista would know better than to speak. Ar’ileth was given all the time she needed, to manoeuvre the correct essences and to instil with Elensar’s cadaver a little something, a spark of unlife. Only when her work was done would she rise and back away, back towards her brother where she could stand within his arms. For all the perverted pleasures that she enjoyed amid games such as these, dear Ab’reth was the only one who held her pitch black heart. The others, they were simply pets, and prey.

With her winsomely lithe form curled into that of her brother’s, the female’s smile deepened as languidly she trailed fingers up and down the skin of his arm. Her gaze drifted down towards the still and stiff corpse at her feet, and then she spoke, a few words in command which were not to be disobeyed.

“On your feet, corpse.”

The vysstichi was authoritative, yes, but as she allowed red eyes to lock with Ilista’s gold once again, the warmth was back, her voice soothing as she asked of the sea elf one last thing.

“Show us, Ilista, pretty one…Show us what he does deserve.”

Somewhat off-puttingly, Elensar’s body had stiffened in its excited state, leaving behind a memorable little something which was not altogether appropriate, perhaps, but there and pointing right at her, nonetheless.

[Ilista]

Ilista gave a smile as Ab’reth spoke her name and nothing else. What really could anyone say? She had just killed the one who may had been the love of her life, and instead of grief or disgust, she felt only anger and frustration still. Perhaps the Yelkith twins were right; perhaps she really did belong with them.

What was curious was Ar’ileth had gone still for some time, and Ab’reth had not moved, but then as if the moment had passed the noble woman rose and went to her brother. What was more curious though were her words that followed. “On your feet, corpse.”

Ilista was horrified, the usually calm, or complainant, even happy telera, was shocked beyond words as the dead form of Elensar rose up from the ground, his bloody wounds still ran but on his feet again he was.

Golden eyes, shocked eyes looked to the twins to see their reactions to this manifestation, “Show us, Ilista, pretty one…Show us what he does deserve.”

Ilista blinked at Ar’ileths’ words and looked at the corpse. Never before had the slave experienced necromancy, had never even heard of such a magic to even exist. But there he was plan as sunlight before her on his feet. Although his wounds bled, the horrible red marks that sent trails down his form.

“Elensar?” The telera took slow cautious steps towards the trio, Ar’ileth with Ab’reth, and Elensar not too far from them. But the dead teleris did not speak, could not speak. He looked strange, aside the wounds, the way he held himself, the way he did not move. Her hands so cautiously reached out to touch the animated corpse.

“Give pretty Ilista a hug.”

She screamed, she screamed like a banshee, like a siren, as if one of the most horrible games either of the Yelkith twins could think of was happening to her. Yet blade never touched her skin. Just the dead man; flesh in his clumsy embrace. Ilista struggled and bucked the screams cut off short and a moment later the slave stumbled away from the corpse her chest heaving and gills fluttering as she drew in breath.

Ilista knew not when Ab’reth had returned his dagger to the hand but she had no chance to think of and the corpse neared her arms outstretched.

The embrace that had been longed for, waited for, neared and Ilista wanted nothing to do with that, that thing. It was an affront, it was vile, it was not real, not Elensar, and it was something beyond her words.

Still it stepped towards the retreating Ilista; her free hand was out to ward it off, “No, no no. Stop. Stop.” It was a foolish thing she had misjudged her position last time she glanced back and instead of backing out of the cell she backed into the bar. Cooling arms wrapped about her middle, hard and stiff, and how Ilista screamed.

She kicked and pushed and somewhere in the way she stabbed the corpse, again and again and her screaming changed from terror and fright, there was anger and rage as blood began to coat her forearms and chest, her face and down the corpses back as she made red meaty ruin of it. After some time she began to hack, to hack at its neck, at its shoulders, as much as she wished to cause it pain she wished it to release her.

[Ab'reth Yelkith]

Elensar was dead. His soul had left him, gone to the stars, or Jalat, or where ever one believed a dead elf drifted in death. He’d left, but Ar’ileth’s dark, though unrefined magic drew a small part of him back. The necromancer bound the small fraction of a soul into the dead body, and it started to stir. He did as she commanded. He couldn’t do anything else.

The corpse climbed to its feet. It was a graceless creature. It lumbered, nearly fell over as it struggled to maintain balance, and two lifeless eyes watched Ilista. He was dead, but his lungs still worked, and it tried to breath, though trying to reclaim the life she’d taken from him. All that followed was a sickening moan in Elensar’s voice. He knew what waited on the other side.

A trickle of blood dripped from the wounds on his neck and chest. It stained his robes and dripped to the floor.

This was the love of her life, wasn’t it? Elensar’s arms wrapped around Ilista’s tiny frame. For a few long seconds he held her tightly. He was stronger now. Off balance but stronger, and the dead limbs locked around her middle.

There was a low moan and a trickle of blood fell from his mouth onto Ilista’s neck.

Ab’reth likewise held his sister as they watched the reunion of young lovers. He melted into his elder, his arms coiled with hers. He adored her warmth. He loved how she smelt. She smelt of lust.

For a few seconds he was lost, simply holding her. Everything else fell away, the screams from Ilista, the shambling dead. There was only the goddess in his arms.

The world came back, and Ab’reth looked up again, to watch the other couple and their less welcome embrace.

Ilista didn’t want Elensar anymore? That was good, and the youth smiled wickedly from over his sister’s shoulder. He liked to hear Ilista scream. It made him feel good, warm. It aroused him. Holding Ar’ileth didn’t help. Having kissed his sister’s neck, and nipped her ear, Ab’reth slid away from her. He missed her warmth the moment they parted, but he draw his smaller dagger again, the same blade that’d slid Elensar’s throat, and placed it in Ilista’s hand.

He did her a favor. He armed her, and gave her a chance to fight back, against the dead. Ilista seemed very willing to do so too. The small telera wasn’t being hurt by Elensar, only held, but she wasn’t so kind. Ilista stabbed the animated flesh over and over, trying to free herself. Blood and gore came from the countless wounds to follow. Minutes passed, and with each stab into the corpse, the magic holding Elensar’s soul inside his damaged body weakened. He grew weaker.

It had long let go, but Ilista had lost herself in the violence. She’d released herself to the lust for blood and death. She knew Haya. The look in her pretty golden eyes wasn’t that of an intelligent elf, but a hungry animal. She kept chopping at the corpse as it lay still on the stone floor. Ilista penetrated Elensar dozens, hundreds of times, long after she was safe.

Ab’reth’s little slave was coated in blood. The lust was only starting to subside as she hovered over Elensar’s broken body. Her body felt good. He felt stronger. The adrenalin pumped through her veins. It was extraordinary. It was also that much more attractive for the vysstichi male, to see his pet losing herself, coated in red, and he moved upon her while she recovered. As Ilista started to return from her mindless violence, he grabbed the hand holding his knife and held it back, away from them. Then, her keeper gave Ilista a kiss.

Ab’reth pushed himself against the slave. He pushed her firmly into the wall, staining his clothes and face red with Elensar’s gore. The male was her lover. He’d shared her bed. He knew her body, and while one hand held the knife, the other toyed with the telera.

He tasted the dead man’s blood on her. He tried to draw the madness out again, and left.

The male moved back to Ar’ileth, smeared with Elensar. He loved his sister. She deserved to try a taste. Ab’reth gave it to her. He tasted of the ocean and rust now. It was a new flavor, but he wore a wicked smile.

Ilista was well on her way to being one of them. Haya was watching them.

“Would Haya approve?” He asked softly, unsure if the priestess would approve as well.