[ Even Ethan had never shared so much of his past—certainly not his upbringing, though it was common for him and others to divulge secrets to Vanessa where they are safely kept and nurtured. Given Heine's nature, she suspects he doesn't often share such details either, but there is the chance some of the compulsion may have had a lingering effect. He may also be pushed to unusual stresses under the circumstances, like she. Though her offering had not been as candid as his, it had been difficult to share even that much, so she can appreciate what has been divulged.
What he describes sounds rather impossible, but so would her life's telling to any passerby. How lucky she was to have had some kind memories of her childhood before she fell for Lucifer's seduction. The cruelty of Heine's mother would make her for a better unholy bride. To use and name her children as weapons is something Vanessa cannot fathom. ...The Dog. Something in the name twists her gut though she cannot remember why, and she glances down to her lap, though not from fear. Two wolves howl at the menacing moon. Mother is cruel. Mother is evil? No, not so. Something else. Calling. Crying. Mother can free me. Mother can love me. Yes, dear, yes.
Kerberos, the great three-headed hound of the Underworld. Mine. A pathetic mortal had masqueraded as queen of the underworld and then left it in shambles. What a wicked woman to be righteously punished, for she had tarnished the name of the mother of monsters. Mine. The scorpion burrows while the cobra's coils tighten. Don't stop. Until there is nothing left. Like the dogs.
Vanessa's chest constricts with her shallow breathing, not conscious of the exact turmoil within and yet utterly humming with it. Blood is on her tongue again, but it isn't her own. As Sir Geoffrey Hawkes was torn to shreds by his own pack of hounds with Vanessa miles away in her cottage, his blood trickled down her throat while his muscle caught in her teeth; his screams were a lullaby.
Like the dogs. For Mother. Don't stop.
No. Vanessa can't be certain such magic would work on Heine, even without the city's limitations. Even if they did...it would make her no different than the Nightcomers. He would never give permission, and if he did it would still be too deep of a sin. To be as like the Nightcomers, to be like Satan, would be worse than death. And yet, had she not already given her soul to the night? Even Ethan had finally condemned her as such. Perhaps there was no one left to love her, if ever there had been, but somehow that couldn't keep Vanessa from loving in turn, and her love is so fierce that even now she considers the most vile options for the sake of returning home and saving her family. Dare she suggest it? Had she not been condemned as a witch before, then she would afterward.
Vanessa doesn't realize that she has been lost in a trance, staring unblinking at the folds of her dirtied blue skirt without seeing it, silent for perhaps too long to be considered polite. ]
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What he describes sounds rather impossible, but so would her life's telling to any passerby. How lucky she was to have had some kind memories of her childhood before she fell for Lucifer's seduction. The cruelty of Heine's mother would make her for a better unholy bride. To use and name her children as weapons is something Vanessa cannot fathom. ...The Dog. Something in the name twists her gut though she cannot remember why, and she glances down to her lap, though not from fear. Two wolves howl at the menacing moon. Mother is cruel. Mother is evil? No, not so. Something else. Calling. Crying. Mother can free me. Mother can love me. Yes, dear, yes.
Kerberos, the great three-headed hound of the Underworld. Mine. A pathetic mortal had masqueraded as queen of the underworld and then left it in shambles. What a wicked woman to be righteously punished, for she had tarnished the name of the mother of monsters. Mine. The scorpion burrows while the cobra's coils tighten. Don't stop. Until there is nothing left. Like the dogs.
Vanessa's chest constricts with her shallow breathing, not conscious of the exact turmoil within and yet utterly humming with it. Blood is on her tongue again, but it isn't her own. As Sir Geoffrey Hawkes was torn to shreds by his own pack of hounds with Vanessa miles away in her cottage, his blood trickled down her throat while his muscle caught in her teeth; his screams were a lullaby.
Like the dogs. For Mother. Don't stop.
No. Vanessa can't be certain such magic would work on Heine, even without the city's limitations. Even if they did...it would make her no different than the Nightcomers. He would never give permission, and if he did it would still be too deep of a sin. To be as like the Nightcomers, to be like Satan, would be worse than death. And yet, had she not already given her soul to the night? Even Ethan had finally condemned her as such. Perhaps there was no one left to love her, if ever there had been, but somehow that couldn't keep Vanessa from loving in turn, and her love is so fierce that even now she considers the most vile options for the sake of returning home and saving her family. Dare she suggest it? Had she not been condemned as a witch before, then she would afterward.
Vanessa doesn't realize that she has been lost in a trance, staring unblinking at the folds of her dirtied blue skirt without seeing it, silent for perhaps too long to be considered polite. ]