dreadlace

[dreadlace]

Centuries To Wait

Brief note: This is a solo made for an alternate universe I came up with; with the generous help of a fellow role-player. This would of course mean that the interactions/thoughts made by the character here may or may not be how you would expect it; Elise during her time as a child. Manage your expectations accordingly. Enjoy.

This is also just a fragment of the story.

CENTURIES TO WAIT

࿐

Having returned from what seemed to be the passing of very short years, Elise had finally returned from her time in Ionia; a splendid time, it was, and as splendid as it had been, it inevitably had to reach its lonely end. She did not desire her retreat back to Noxus the first place. Any god on earth knew she wished to stay in the fertile, magical lands of Ionia. Now back to the land she found so depressing. And for it to be depressing for a child of six, one could have figured out her dislike for her return by an effete expression she wore on her pale face.

The best distraction were memories before her leave. Smooth leaves ruffling in the wind, her hair caught on branches, her tears, then her friend’s smile as they wiped the natural drops of her forlorn away. How amazing was this friend of hers that kept her mind free of worry even in their absence. The empty face turned bright and sunny; contrasting the rainy weather in the skies of her homeland. It even caused her mother to wonder where such pearly whites of glee came from. This child… seemed happy.

I wonder when I’ll meet him again, said Elise to herself at the thought of her friend, her fingers fiddled with a torn leather skin from the seat she sat on. A carriage shielded her from the rain. Her little heart longed for its demure friend; the first one to connect and reach out to. Oh, how her heart fluttered violently at the image of his face. A friend; a friend! Lovely are the thoughts it gave her. The unnatural grief and blues of a child so young faded away by a simple encounter—into what a child should be: a burning bonfire of joy.

But even the innocent little Elise’s pleasant thoughts became disturbed by the halt of their ride; the clacks made by Noxian horses heard even from their seats. Her mother, who so elegantly sat beside her with a fan in hand, harshly flapped it open with a single motion to cool herself; expensive and marvelously detailed: the fan. And with every movement of her mother’s wrist, it blew at the curls of her long, auburn hair. They’ve arrived at the gates of House Kythera; which Elise called to as The House of Silence; a home so void of music and voice it deafened all ears of its inhabitants.

If it were Elise and her friend, they’d have filled it with thunderous laughter and loud footsteps through the halls in overwhelming energy… with fireflies and the fairies they talked about! That’s just how the child thought. Already did she had forgotten the rules of her home. Absent-minded and busy, Elise was startled by a tap on the shoulder from her mother’s hand.

“Get your things, Ellie,” her mother ordered. It has been a long while since she was called by her nickname. But only was it done for the purpose of her attention.

Elise, whom loved the sound of it from her mother’s lips, followed. But, still, the child bore sadness for her mother’s decision in returning. Why can’t she simply stay in Ionia with her friend?

Her mother added: “After that, I’ll have a maid dress you up.”

It caused her to bob her head to the side. Her obedience stayed even with her wants to tantrum; she asked no longer of her mother’s plans. With the aid of housekeeping, she was led back to the large, cold of her room—kept neat even in her absence, down to the last corner and inch. These maids must have worked hard again, Elise thought. The last time they did not… she shook the touch of unneeded thoughts away with her dark auburn-covered head, not wanting to remember her mother’s wrath from the slight wrongs of people who have served her, long even before she breathed air in their world. She found herself standing in front of the doorway; her maids waited patiently behind her, with all her needs and necessities. It was inevitable for her; she sat on the edge of her well-made bed. The sound of footsteps, almost synchronized in pattern made noise in the room. That’s when the maids opened her bag and unpacked the things she used in Ionia.

She looked to the maids, silently still. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the dress she wore on their first meeting; the small rip at the hem, having been caught on sharp branches. The day her friend followed her and helped her away from the tangled locks of auburn; away from those hateful branches.

“I want to wear that,” she spoke—startled the women’s focus with her soft and tender voice.

“But, little miss! This one is of your casual wear. Your mother will scold us for dressing you in such casual clothing.” They feared to sadden the girl, but keeping their job was more of importance.

Elise gave slumped shoulders as a vague response. But; it was clear she was not pleased. “Okay…” she muttered soon after, understanding the situation. They cannot lose their work just because of her silly request. Elise, you’re so selfish, she then scolded herself instead.

Merely, her desire was only to remember her friend. Her friend; her friend. When will she ever return? She doubted she’d forget him, anyway. The faint sound of footsteps grew wickedly louder; eventually startling the fragile glass of Elise’s concentration in her solitude thinking.

“Rest now, Elise!” said a maid walking in front of her. A maid she was, indeed, suited in black and white; the standard pattern of Kythera’s servants—but she was no ordinary woman. She sat beside Elise; unlike most who dare not even approach her very being; in fear of the dangersome whip of anger her mother will give; in fear of the child herself; the odd, pale child that brought no fear within her little crimeless heart.

There was a gasp; then a gracious smile; then a pout from Elise. “I can’t sleep.” It seemed her favorite Lottie awakened her tender spirit.

Lottie was the headkeeper, the carer of the Kythera’s home. Tasked strictly like a god’s will to govern the care of its vicinity, down to the last grass in the garden. But the woman’s most favored task was not even a task in its own right—she was not needed, but she lent the aid she found oh, so awfully needed by the child beaming in front of her own smiling visage; in return. A special circumstance and choice it was to care for the daughter of a highborn aristocrat. Perchance even a sin against her master if done so. This child had caught the heart of her motherly instinct. Now more motherly and nurturing to Elise; more than Elise’s own mother by blood. Blood is thicker than water, but at times, water is purer. And with her reassuring, star-empowering smile, Lottie sat at the edge of the bed, letting it creak softly; pulling Elise close to her chest, with gentle arms surrounding her small, petite frame. She was a shieldmaiden for her Little Eli; the daughter she never had; the daughter she had wished she had.

“Sleep in my arms, little Eli,” she melodied. Lottie pulled her even closer to the loving arms; that which had just finished in lifting the heavy baggages of Elise’s mother. Covered in sweat was she, but hoped the child did not mind the work she had just finished doing. She stopped not in embracing her.

It could only mean one thing, Elise thought. With Lottie beside her, embracing her fully, as if a thousand winters have passed; that her mother will not return to the manor until the setting of the afternoon sun—or the arrival of the evening moon. “Lottie, I want to talk instead!” For time spent with Lottie was no time wasted.

࿐

Elise flashed open her eyes. Once more was she faced with the maws of oneirophobia, eating at her mind disgustingly slow for what it seemed to be now the passing of two years. She hated sleep; hated it more than the dream—a long forgotten dream that ached her heart. Unbelievable, that she was able to sleep after a night with a man. She looked to her side to see him silently lied down; his eyes blank and staring to the abyss.

It seemed as though she has killed another one before losing her conscience and falling asleep. She used her leg to push the body away, letting it fall to the carpet floors.

“Why now of all times?” She rose from the bed and furiously rubbed her arms by both cold, shivering hands. “How could I have forgotten?” she asked herself. Forgotten a fragment of her life that gave her the slightest bit of joy; her life that was a lovely tragedy, that she forgot the joy of friendship—of pure love; that she had forgotten them. Her friend. Her Lottie.

A slap to the face of the woman were the fortuitous visions of an unneeded past. Now she was stuck, bare of clothing, covered partially by a blanket from the waist down.

Now she was enveloped by a familiar embrace; the embrace of mind-shattering dysphoria.

࿐

“Talk, my child?” Lottie was surprised.

“Yes! I have a friend,” Elise smiled, “and I can’t wait for you to meet him!”

“Where is he, child?” The little girl’s excitement was rare. It caused her numerous amounts of glee to see her happy. She continued to stroke on her hair. It was a wholesome sight—she would kill to see it once more.

That’s when Elise lost her shining light; now doubtful with storm clouds. “He’s far away now, Lottie.” She now blubbered in her words to hold back the arrival of tears. She failed.

“Hush now, little one.” Lottie smiled. “Hush now little one.”

Elise knew; knew Lottie will sing for her as she once did, as she always had—and she did:

Hush now little one, ‘fore eyes close

Bring back, little one, your beam

Hush now little one, be free, be free!

My little hummingbird, sing once more

And Elise sang in soft whimpers: “My little humming… bird… sing… once more.” She bursted into tears, wetting the lap of her beloved Lottie. “I don’t want to be here! I don’t want to be here, Lottie! Please take me away! Please.” Her face sunk on Lottie’s clothing—like the setting of the sun symbolizing her happiness. And the stormy cloud that was her expression brought in the rain of her sorrows.

Lottie’s heart never sank as low as it now did. What could she do to a crying child hindered from the company of a friend? It was not forbidden. Why has it become? Inside, Lottie cursed Elise’s mother. Cursed her a thousand—a hundred thousand times for being blind to the suffering; the trauma of her child. How she wished she could take her away. How she wished she took her away at that moment.

“What do you think you are doing? Did I not say to keep away from my child?”

The voice was thunderous and mixed with rage. It was Elise’s mother.

No words were spoken from Lottie as she respectfully (painfully) parted from Elise. She still cried, and her mother struck Lottie in her place with the back of her hand.

Lottie could not take her anger any longer. “Adalie! That’s your child!”

The mother’s eyes widened. “How dare you call me by my name, servant?” She raised her hand to hit Lottie once more, but halted as Lottie fought back with words.

“What happened to you? Why are you doing this? We were friends once, Adalie. Look at her; she’s missing her friend. Send her back.”

“What do you know? You’re merely filth to the eyes of this country. She is here because her brother died. She is here because her father died!”

Lottie was silenced. She was insensitive—unaware.

Adalie scoffed and faced Elise. “You will find another friend. Here. In Noxus.” She looked to Lottie and hit her once more—this time hard enough to have the pathetic maid to the floors of her daughter’s room. “As for you; you are relieved of your duties. You leave this instant. I see you in this estate again; I’ll have you butchered.”

Elise only watched in utter horror as a lonely hand reached out for Lottie, which only angered her mother more.

Lottie too, now gone from her life.

How much more will she take away?

[dreadlace]

CLAUDE’S DEMISE

༺♔༻

CLAUDE’S DEMISE

༺♔༻

Claude’s Journal:

11/18 Wednesday

Perfect—the only word to ever enter the pits of my corrupted mind upon glancing at just the shadow she made as she entered the blazing blessing of the sun gazing down at the crowded plaza minutes away from the splendor of the structure that was the Immortal Bastion. That was until I saw her form. Is there a greater word than perfect—than divine? I never wondered why my fellow men discussing our project stopped and stared at her arrival. Crowned in aristocracy, even the stallions that pulled her carriage had silkier coats than lesser women’s hair. I dare not even talk about her hair. Oh goodness, her hair. It’s as if; if I did, it would be an insult to the glory of her fiery locks… for my words are never enough to describe the art of her form.

Her dress stood out like a rose amidst dirt. Those around could never compare to her. I was in a trance. I forgot I have been holding a glass of precious whiskey, and funnily enough, because of a precious lady, it slipped from my hands and shattered to the floor, wasting my drink, as well as ruining my shoes. The mess I made interrupted the stares of awe from my partners. What could go worse…? She was the woman funding the project. I cursed myself inside.

Gorgeously, she approached with hips swaying in an enchanting manner; and I felt slight vertigo. She stopped so near to me; my heart rattled nervously.  Being new to my father’s work and being sent to represent him… I shouldn’t have embarrassed myself, and yet I already did; being in front of a beautiful woman made it worse. I blamed her for this.

We greeted her, and it seemed everyone knew her name, but me. How could I have been such a Charlie; a fool to never know of her? Lady Elise. I repeated the name countlessly in my mind, longer than the words inside my favorite novel. Being unable to see her face was years without rain. I’ve yet to see her face.

Pray! She finally looked to me, and I swore to my ancestors I saw bloodshot; her eyes were remarkably red. I wished to see her face but I didn’t know if my body could readily take it. At first I thought I exaggerated, that she may just have been another one of those dainty dressers—they wear beautiful clothing; they have voluptuous bodies that make up for the lack of facial beauty. That was what I thought when I saw she was veiled by the fashion of ebony lace, covered by Elise fanning herself. What surprised me was what happened next. As if she heard my pleas, Elise took away her fan to reveal her visage. Needless to say, I fell in love at that undeniable moment. She rested her weight on one leg, and I unconsciously stared at her hip. She would look most beautiful in silk, is what I imagined; even more beautiful in bed. As a man with class, I should never have imagined libidinous things, but how could such elegance even exist; that my thoughts grew corrupted just when I gazed.

“My, who is this?” she asked and looked at me. Frozen like true ice, my breath ceased from its rise and fall. I parted my mouth but spoke no word, until one of the men saved my skin by introducing me to her welcoming face: “His name is Claude, my lady.” She smiled and I was blinded by beautiful, pristine teeth. I relaxed and introduced myself as well.

“Claude? Marion’s son?” the smiling, exquisite Lady Elise asked. I wonder why she sounded so surprised. She said my name so perfectly, down to the last letter. Did she sing? I could not tell from how angelic her vocals echoed in my ears. Any more and I might have lost myself. Knowing I am to be wed to someone else broke my heart, because my wife will only be limited happiness. The thought of this woman already kissed me; what more if she were mine? My father was a fool to dislike her. Ever since that meeting, my mind was filled with one face, one voice, one name: Elise.

—Claude Azinos

༺♔༻

Claude’s Journal:

11/19 Thursday

Reading a book just won’t do. Simply writing about her did not either. I decided to visit the Lady Elise in her ever gallant castle. It was an old estate, but bore beauty still. In just one night, I learned what there was to know of the noblewoman. Her ancestry was admirable, blessed with immense beauty. The rank of her family prospered because of her marriage with the master of the family Zaavan. Her husband died due to illness, and it caused me melancholy feelings to see her alone. The man could not even bless her with children; how disappointing. She kept both families from falling apart. Some even say she’s the one behind all of it, and not her husband. As I kept recalling these things freshly in my mind, my feet already met the gates of her home, where the gatekeeper awaited, asking my name and purpose.

I pronounced my name respectfully to the man and the guards that accompanied him. “Sir, have you planned with the lady Elise to meet?” the man asked suspiciously. I replied in honesty, saying I did not. What was I to expect other than be asked to return to where I came from? I stood there for a moment and stared beyond the gate to see no one else, but her. Now she wore the purity of white. Even from where I stood, I knew the blood shed from the clothing she wore, and the quality of its fabric. Rather, I assumed it was of great expense, for she deserved the finest.

Calling out to her seemed like reciting a poem, and at the top of my lungs did I call to her, waving an arm once to capture her gaze, her attention. Just that was enough. The gods have blessed me, for she looked my way. I remember it as clear as a still, blue lake I once saw in my travels:

“Claude, what brings you?” I get to hear the beauty of her voice.

“Lady Elise…” I said softly as I watched her look at me with the scarlet irises. Suddenly, I forgot what to say, just like when we first met. Making a massive fool of myself again, I cleared my throat out of speechlessness.

“What is it?” I felt tormented for a moment by her reply. She is a woman of high status and a man such as I was wasting her time. Immediately, I thought of an answer.

“I… I wanted to d-discuss some-… something.” It can’t be blamed if I stuttered. She sent chills down my spine; she made me feel like a child. I want her more. I fear she wished no love to enter her once more. I’m sure she loves her husband still.

Elise let me enter her domain, and I was able to walk beside her. She read the thoughts in my very confused mind. It was too much of an honor, and it made my heart ring wildly like a warning bell from a watchtower. Our conversations were smoothly run. I was able to make her smile from the simplest of jokes, and I wish to cherish it—cherish her. Alas, she had things to do. She invited me, and I knew then, I can never refuse once she held my hand close to her lips.

That night, she led me to a place, and I saw a side of her that caused me fear and longing for her passion.

—Claude Azinos

༺♔༻

12/06 Monday

It has been a while since I have written. Being too busy as of late; I lost track of time. Even now my mind screams her name, and I am joyous to write that Elise accepted my feelings. In return, she gave me the same passion I had witnessed that night from her preachings, and a new meaning to life.

I spent my time with her—my nights wrapped in her arms as she coiled and tightened them around me. However, we made no love. Simply, we lie in bed and tell the greatest of stories, and sometimes nothing but silence. I don’t deny I wish something more to happen, but she does not let me enjoy her flesh. Merely she gave deep kisses and warm embraces. I love her enough to respect her wishes, but sometimes I wonder if she’s testing if I shall be the one to make the daring move. Bedding a woman had never been so difficult. She read a poem to me, and I memorized every word I can as if writing at the very pits of my learning brain:

I lost my way, trekking in my dream

The venom of ambition coursed

In my veins, I was corrupted

My greed for you sharpened

Like a knife with an iron will

But I cut myself with the blade

Duller, it went unpleasant

My love is another name for evil

And you are the demon of affection

You are the music box of deceit

There was something hidden in her words… a melancholy phrase for one so in love she claimed to be. I wonder if her love is true. I wonder why I now start to doubt. Why give such a heart shattering poem? Perhaps it's what her heart screamed beneath. Because— maybe because of her husband. Was their love never real?

• • •

It is now evening and I have just received a letter from her. Never in our time has she sent me one in return to the dozens of letters I have given. My beloved said she will arrive later. I wonder for what purpose.

—Claude Azinos

༺♔༻

The night grew darker, and so did her deeds. No soul in sight as she stood outside the doorstep of the man’s home. The guards tasked to stand watch for the night… taken care of by the woman herself. Silently, without commotion, without sound, it was terribly quiet. Knocking was not needed, for she was expected. The door creaked open and she was greeted by a smile.

“Claude, darling,” Elise smiled innocently, knowing well it was his weakness.

“Elise…” the man murmured, pulling his lover into a fond embrace.

The woman returned it just as fondly, finding it comedic—pathetic. “I cannot take it anymore,” she said amidst the embrace, her voice hitting his skin. She wondered why he was so gullible and idiotic.

“That our love is… forbidden?” He held the woman’s cheeks as they parted; he directed his gaze to her. His voice was soft and favoring, not wanting her to grow frightened. The last thing he wished to happen; her leaving out of fear.

Wishing she could laugh, Elise instead dug her face on the man’s shoulder and whimpered softly. “Is your father here? Even if he pretends to be my closest friend to the public… he is keeping us apart.”

There was a moment of a pause, before he gulp down his own saliva,“…my father has never desired me to inherit anything. That’s why I did what I had to.”

“Claude, what on earth do you mean?” She found his words unexpected. What did the man had in mind?

Claude took Elise’s hand firmly and pulled her inside the mansion. Something he kept secret throughout his years cannot be uttered so openly. Their footsteps went on unseen, until they finally reached Claude’s quarters. He locked the door behind them, and he sighed out in anxiousness.

Willingly, she followed him and clutched the man’s arctic hands to warm them with her own. Elise, fictitiously showed concern and cupped the man’s cheek. “Dearest… tell me.”

He was then at ease in her touch; as if the quaking of his anxiously beating heart settled into a calmer state. She was perfect, as always—ever will be; calming his storms and placing her embraces. But; his heart was heavier that the breaths he took, unsure and indecisive whether to tell. “I am to be married to someone else.”

“I know that already, Claude…” Her voice hinted despondent emotions… even if she hardly cared; inside Elise was jealousy. A trait of hers, for she knew she owned him, his heart, his soul, his life.

“I know,” he said, taking his lips to hers to form an innocent kiss. “My father demands it, but not…” he paused, taking a step back, “…not if we rid of him.” He felt guilt upon placing his lying lips; his lying skin on her purity. Now he knew how unworthy he was to even gaze at her the first place.

Elise was alarmed, closing the gap between her and her lover; she shook his hand with a worried squeeze. “What are you saying? You mean to kill your father! This is absurd.”

“You’ve seen how he treated us.” He grimaced; he knew she would never approve.

“I will not allow such a thing. Cover my eyes, pretend we’re perfect. I am still here. We needn’t rush.” A faked smile was offered, foreheads carelessly press against each other.

“He plans to send me far from you… and you care not?” He freed himself from her affectionate gifts, pulling away in a vexed fashion.

“Claude, you needn’t be upset. There must be a way.” Elise placed a tender hand on the tenseness of his arm. She pulled herself closer once more. “You need…” the woman paused, kissing him softly; her hand traveled to rub against the broadness of his chest,“…rest.”

“Elise,” he mumbled against her lips, coiling an arm around her hip to force her closer. Her scent drew him in like bees to a flower—a fly to a web. She was the key to his rest, and willingly he let her do as she pleased. Feelings of deep, unwanted anger twisted easily into love; into lust. An aggressive hand gripped her hips longingly.

She bit her lip as she was pulled close; their indulgent-painted faces short strings away from one another. Terribly obvious what she desired from him, she inched her lips close to the corner of his shoulder for an evanescent kiss.

There, Claude begun exploring the pale smoothness of her body dressed in perfection. His hands ran down to lift the hem of her auburn dress, running upwards her thigh. It was a surprise to see his lover drive him to a wall with such strength, knocking down a portrait hanging from it. Their love began to blossom in his eyes. It caused him happiness to have her bite the bottom of his lips. There, he carried her to his bed, where they shared their love through the night. Unbeknownst to Claude the woman’s true intentions.

• • •

He woke up, still on the warmth of his bed. The first thought tickling his mind were memories of their precious night. Sunlight was yet to be present, but why was his lover not at his side? Claude sprang up; confused and lonely. Had she left? He asked himself.

Then there was a whimper. Something was afoot.

His sore gaze adjusted to its surroundings, only to see his father sitting on the chair feet away from the table nearby. Elise was beside him, bound in rope and suppressed of voice; her mouth was covered with cloth.

Quickly, his eyes flashed open with a grotesquely blazed gaze at him. “What are you doing?!” His voice was as equally lit as his own angered optics.

“This is what you did when I was away?” Marion asked with anger of his own.

“I love her, father!” Claude yelled, already kneeling down to untie his beloved,

His father stopped him, giving a blow to Claude’s face with a closed fist. “You will not disgrace this household, let alone with a woman like her.” He turned to Elise, holding her chin with a messed smile. “You may have killed my guards to hide your escape, but you have fallen right into my trap, wench.” And he as well proved to Elise he brought pain upon them both with an open palm swiftly hitting her cheek.

Elise could only whimper. It did not go as planned for the woman.

“Look, son. Look what you have done to this woman.” There, Marion groped Elise’s breast in a tight squeeze, perfectly shaped on her thin line of clothing. He watched as Elise struggled to free herself from his grasp, and it only brought him more pleasure. Marion reached in to kiss her neck, having a taste of the woman his son had fallen for.

Claude watched in unwanted horror; the good dream had faded from him, as well as the good within the man who merely wished to love. He stood up and grabbed at his knife, hidden inside the drawer beside the bed with the memory of his love; the same love of his being tainted by his own father. He clenched his teeth and lunged at him, and before his father could even react, the blade had already pierced his heart with a rotten twist from Claude’s anger. Marion fell to the floor, with his last action being fouler than the lowest scoundrel in Noxus. Claude withdrew the blade and dropped it to the carpet floor, along with his knees in grief. There was no tears.

Claude’s mind finally returned to the reality of what he had done. But; more importantly, Elise was safe. He rushed to his lady with a worried look, cutting the binds on her wrists and feet with the same dagger he stabbed his father with, the blood tainting the ends of the broken strings on the rope. It was the first time he saw Elise cry. It broke his very heart. Once more, he dropped the weapon and held Elise in a tight embrace, where she embraced him in return. “You are safe now…” he muttered softly against her head.

Elise continued crying, but no; it wasn't out of fear and trauma. “Oh, Claude.”

“Hush, now. You’re alright,” he smiled a weak smile, pulling her tighter than he ever did. Never will he let anything hurt her again.

“Thank you.” Without him knowing, her own smile was wickedly sweet in its own right, and just then, Claude had felt the way his father did; having a knife through his heart. What was worse was it was done by his lover herself. “Thank you for doing the job for me.”

Claude fell to her shoulders and she gave a look of disapproval, pushing the lifeless body to the side, as if nothing ever happened.

“My plan was originally to kill you, then your father. But I did not expect this!” She laughed, almost covering her mouth with bloodstained hands. She stood up and dusted herself off, removing all her clothing to leave her bare, but froze for a moment upon seeing a woman standing before her in horror. Immediately, Elise grabbed the slave girl, covering her mouth to prevent any screams. “How unlucky are you to witness such horror. Let me take this memory from you, yes?”

The Spider Queen waited for no answer, as the slave’s stomach already met the sharp blade in her poor flesh. A fine blade it was, to have killed three in a flawless row, not losing its edge. A shame she had to leave it behind. She removed the slave’s clothing to place her in Elise’s own clothes—the clothes Claude had given to her.

Intending to leave immediately, now covered in her own chitin armor, her eye spots an item; a notebook on her former lover’s work desk; his journal.

She took a moment to open and read the last page.

“The idiot cannot even remember the whole poem.” She closed the book in vexation and left while all eyes have yet to be awoken.

༺♔༻

I lost my way, trekking in my dream The venom of ambition coursed In my veins, I was corrupted My greed for you sharpened Like a knife with an iron will But I cut myself with the blade Duller, it went unpleasant My love is another name for evil And you are the demon of affection You are the music box of deceit

And by your lips will toxin flow Like simple memories in midnight Your words will herald hell Even the softness of your hands Carry the roughest of sins You gave it to me freely And I drank from the cup From the cup of sweetest poison

༺♔༻

RUMORS

Did you hear of Azinos?

The dead father and son?

The father who killed the lover?

The son who killed her killer?

It seemed he was to be wed to someone else.

The Lady Zaavan?

No! A lady from house Lutred.

A disgrace indeed! What happened to the fallen family?

Taken in by the matron Zaavan.

The Lady Elise herself?

Aye! Out of pity.

Or of power…

[dreadlace]

Memoir (2016)

Let us go way back… back when one's mind was innocent and naïve. When one is free from the harshest realities of the world. Back when one… was but a child. Yes, let's go back to that. “Elizabeth!” Her mother yelled, a voice so stern it echoed throughout their quiet home. Harsh feet stomping on hard, wooden floorboards, leaving a squeaking sound here and there. Eyes scanning the vicinity, looking for the girl, a strange girl at that. Finally a small head popped up from behind the sofa near the fireplace that barely had a pinch of flame. “Yes… mommy?” A girl, not more than 6 years of age, replied in the shyest of tones. “What are you doing there, child?” There, the mother’s brows narrowed, but the voice went softer, much like pure cotton. She approached closer to the young one, a hand to one side of her hip. “I was just observing the fire, mommy.” The ingenue pointed weakly at the burned wood pieces, hardly any flame lingered still. She smiled, though it faded since the expression of the elder remained unshaken. Mother sighed, not wanting to question her, yet still did. Why must her daughter be so peculiar? Why cannot she be the cliché normal and perfect daughter playing outside with children? “And may I ask why?” The mood of her voice was sarcastic, knowing the child wouldn't understand. “Well… I can see how the flame is dying. I like it because it wouldn't be warm anymore! I like the cold, mommy.” Yes, whenever she conversed with her biological mother, most of her sentences end with the word ‘mommy’, a growing habit of hers. Elizabeth held both of her hands in front of her, twisting her torso side to side, much like shyly dancing to music. There goes the girl again. Saying things a child wouldn't normally say. As a mother, she tried to understand her child, with that, she leaned down to brush the short, dark hair of the younger one, a fake smile on the mother’s face. “I see, dear. Well, why don't you try playing outside? In the garden? We'll invite some kids.” She suggested, wanting her daughter to accept and try to live a normal childhood. That's all she needed to be. Ordinary. She stayed silent for a few moments of thinking. The only thing on her mind was the thought of them calling her names again. Intelligent was the child, for she knew her mother wanted it. With that said, she nodded, which caused her mother to smile. “Okay, mommy! I'll go get some toys upstairs, mommy!” How constant was the word ‘mommy’ to her. And there I went. With little memory I have, I remember running up to my room to prepare myself. Had the maid give me a bath. I remembered the cold water, how I adored that. Afterwards, I put on my clothes with much energy. I loved pleasing my mother. It seemed that red and white were my clothes… I still remember it. The child went back downstairs, with her dolls handmade by none other than her mother, her toy animals, all stacked up on her little wooden wagon. Dragging it from behind with much enthusiasm. Anything to please her mother. She had now swiftly returned to where they last conversed, at the fireplace, waiting. There, she sat on the 200-year-old carpet passed down for generations. Old yet wonderfully preserved. She hummed and sang words not in the Noxian dictionary. “La la la. La la.” Placed on her hand was a cream-haired doll, making it move with her own fingers. “There you are.” The mother reached to her. “Let's go, Eli. The children are waiting for you.”. Eli or Ellie. A nickname made to shorten ‘Elizabeth’. She saw her placing the doll back on her wagon. Quickly her tiny feet balanced as she sprang up to take her mother’s hands, looking quite huge compared to hers. Her other hand held onto the wheeled box. They journeyed outside the door. Immediately, greeting her eyes were 8 more children already having their fun. She joined them, and said hello. There was a loud response from the joined voices of the other kids… mostly only because they were wretched little actors in front of her mother. Everything looked alright. With that, the mother took her leave, retreating back to her house to make pastries for the children. Now, left completely alone she attempted to play with them, taking one of her dolls to hand it to the Noxian children. Any of them, if they would accept. “Uhm… hello.” “Let's play hide and seek!” One of the children said. Elizabeth’s voice set aside by the louder, livelier one. “That's fun!” The second one proclaimed. “You'll be It!” The third one pointed to the second, which caused mild tantrums and laughter. Elizabeth stared at them, her pale skin made her feel as if she cannot join them, the feeling that she'll get laughed at for it. Grasping her wagon tight, she approached them. “H-Hello!” Shyly, she greeted, and waved her hand. The eight fellow young ones looked to her, but uttered not much… not even a wave back. Emotions, persona immediately swapped as the elder people left. “Alright let's start!” The silence was broken by the first child. “You go hide, everyone!” Everyone? That meant her as well! As soon as she heard one of the children counting, she panicked, jogging sillily as she looked for a hiding place. She found one, behind a tree that formed a hole underground that was fit just right for her. Elizabeth crawled in it in a hurry, forgetting what may lie inside it. She waited. She was excited, hoping she won't get caught. * * * It has been minutes. How long does the game usually take? Still, the child decided to wait. She was very good at this game! Yes… that was it. Embracing her legs close to her chest tightly. It was cold… which was nice. They'll find her soon enough. She can't be that good. In the midst of her waiting to get caught, she suddenly felt something crawl to her leg. Now that she noticed it, her clothes are muddy, as the hole had damp soil. Focusing back to the feeling on her leg, she saw something that made her gasp for the cold, cold air. It was a spider, and she slowly looked at it as it creeped up at her own skin. Unusually large, she did what a normal child would do, and that was to hold it with both hands with a giggle. Deciding to keep it, she forgot about the game, and she went outside, only to see that the children already played another kind of entertainment. Blinking for a few moments to take in the situation, she frowned as if the world had ended. Coming to a conclusion to leave, she carried the spider and skipped back to take her wagon. One of the eight children caught her with the insect, and she screamed. “What’s that!?” Elise heard her, and she turned to where the noise was made, eventually revealing the spider. “Ewwie! Kill it! Papa said that they’re dangerous!” Another kid mentioned. “Kill it, Elizabeth!” But she dare not harm the creature, and she chooses to ignore them, taking her wagon to leave. Yet, she was stopped in her tracks as three of the kids walled her way with their own bodies. The first child held some stones, the second held a bark from a nearby tree. They pushed poor little Elizabeth, causing her to tumble down and lose the spider from her hands. The children started chasing the spider, confident with their so called weapons, throwing stones at it. “Stop! You'll hurt it!” Elizabeth rose to her feet, desperately running to catch up. She tugged on their clothes, begging. But she was only pushed away. It caused her to become the shield for the spider instead, thus being hit seldom by the rocks. She felt pain, but her new friend was important. * * * “AAAHHH!” The children stopped at the horrific sounds of one of their friends. Elizabeth stopped to look as well. Another girl from the group of eight, bitten by the same insect Elizabeth tried to protect. Her mother came running from the house, accompanied by her maid. “What happened?” She asked in a worrying tone, hoping Eli wasn't hurt… or the one hurting others. Seeing the scene, she quickly demands what happened. “Elizabeth brought a spider! And she made it bite her!” The fifth of the lot pointed at Elizabeth, whom already fled from the scene, running to the house. The mother sighed, ordering the maid to call for the girl’s parents, carrying the bitten child with her to the living room. Elizabeth’s fault again. Look what she has done. “My friend would never forgive me for this.” She muttered to herself. One moment of peace and this daughter of hers had to ruin it. Consumed by anger, her footsteps became heavier as she went towards Elizabeth’s room. * * * Meanwhile, Elise found a crate to keep her new friend inside. “I'll protect you from them…” she nodded to herself. The door opened, which startled Elizabeth. “Elizabeth.” Her mother stormed in the room, and suddenly a harsh contact with the child’s arm was made. A slap, if you will. “Where is that blasted thing?” “Mommy it wasn't her fault! She was trying to prot–…” Her words were cut by a sudden yell. Elizabeth’s mother was not a patient woman. “Where is it?” She demanded, but before she waited for an answer, she already found the crate under her bed. Roughly seizing it from the floor, she opened it slightly to see the ugly arachnid. Opening it completely to let the thing out. As it slowly made its way out the box, she stepped on it with all her might. Not caring if Eli sees. It was dead. Just like that. A hint of fear in her eyes, but sadness as well. She wanted to tear up, but she fought back like the strong little girl that she was. Surprisingly able to control her feelings at such a young age. Her mother, being the infuriated lady that she was, left the room, leaving the child quaking in sheer fright. Elizabeth’s mother wasn't the best, but Elizabeth loved her still. * * * Ellie puffed her cheeks with air, suppressing those bad, bad tears. Mother told her not to cry. And she was trying. “I can't disappoint mommy!” More… than she already has. Her face already red from all that, and she crawled up to her bed to hide under its sheets. The strictness of her own mother made her lonely. Lately she refused to embrace her, nor smiled when she's around Eli. Is her mother upset with her? Questions normally asked would enter her mind. So much thoughts overwhelmed the little one, and she drifted to sleep. Little did I knew, that was the last time I would see my mother in a while. Soft, emerald eyes opened to take in the view. Disturbed clearly by the back and forth, rocking of a… carriage? Where was she? Springing up and sitting, she gazed out of the small window only to see nothing but sheer darkness in the streets. The dim light of the carrier was the only thing that shined along with a vast amount of stars. The moon half-present before her, dressed in clouds. Her face mildly reflected on the window’s mirror.

[dreadlace]

I can despise you more than I already do.

[dreadlace]

“I bear no crown, and yet I am called queen.”

[dreadlace]

↳ Into Her Lair

—Ships with chemistry. —Single ship. —Multiverse. —Lewd rps on DMs. —Any art posted will be immediately taken down upon artist’s demands. —Art source on replies/DMs.

HEADCANONS:

[ Official lore found here: <a href=“http://leagueoflegends.wikia.com/wiki/Elise/Background”>http://leagueoflegends.wikia.com/wiki/Elise/Background ]

(The lore the writer has for her is a mixture of the old and new one However, will be canon upon request.)

* By making a pact to bring victims to Him in exchange for His venom; giving her an extended life, Elise serves Vilemaw, and Vilemaw alone. * She does not need the pale woman for her extended life. * Elise is the headmistress of House Kythera Zaavan. * She killed her husband, but through means of getting power, not because the husband made the attempt of poisoning her. * Only collects artifacts for her own possession.

Headcanons:

* Has a fondness for biting. * Sadomasochist. * Wears Victorian-inspired clothing. * Elise’s height is around 6'3. * A fair weakness of hers is jealousy. * Bears massive amounts of anxiety/paranoia. * Distrustful even to those she is fond of. Gaining that trust is near impossible. * Elise is a woman who loves no one more than herself, choosing her own wellbeing rather than a lover’s. Always, she comes first. * Fondness for red and black. * Having a love for wine and tea. * Adoration for lace. * Elise is one to be dominant in bed, due to her own anxieties and fears of betrayal. * Her mother did not care for her (other than physically) as a child. She does not know what a mother’s love is, and cares not for children. * She bore love for her husband before. Sadly he became a hindrance, and so had to dispose of him. * Invites people of no titles to her manor. Whether for tea or wine. Most do not lead to a good end. * She grows her hair, extending to her lower back. However always keeps it tied up. * Keeps a cat from time to time. She finds their company pleasant. * Ironically, she does not trust anyone. At least, not fully. Knowing well there are people like her. * She never sins with someone on her bed. It was the bed shared with her husband, and one other. She intends to keep it clean. * Quite fond of instruments. Plays a variety of them. Preferably the violin and the organ. * Doesn’t care of Noxus and its conflicts with Demacia or other city-states. In fact, even fancies Ionia and its sceneries. * She visits Ionia especially during the Blood Moon. * Has a fascination for the game Go. Plays it alone when without an opponent to invite. * Frequently having to fear dying in her sleep, she gets little of it. * Finds beautiful hair terribly precious. A sign of her affection is to take a strand and kiss it. * Very, very selfish in most aspects. Even the simplest ones. * Likes to wound her partners in bed. Sometimes extreme enough, that her partners would die from it. * She is not one to dispose of prey in a quick manner. She takes her time in enjoying them, breaking both body and mind in multiple ways. * Can inject neurotoxin through her teeth, nails, as well as the spider legs on her back; which can be retracted back in her body. * Has never cried out of sadness. Or rather cannot remember the last time she did so. * Frequently calls people her “dearest”. At times, may use “darling”. * At times may find lack of elegance appealing on certain people. Certain people. * Likes to hum in her solitude. * Although inexperienced with motherhood, she still has the motherly instinct, which she always denies as she dislikes people taking advantage of it. * Will bear hatred and affection to those who can make her submit easily without force.

[dreadlace]

“Surely you would know the heart beats when it wants to.”

[dreadlace]

Pathetic.

“How I would describe the man Claude.”

[dreadlace]

‎ ‎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀☬⠀الموت والحب

[dreadlace]

Deliverance

How she woke up mattered not, for it always had been the same routine. Flash-opening her crimson beads for eyes, her eyelids like curtains that uncovered the opening for actors in a fiery opera, and a redundant yawn escaping the reddest of lips as all humans did when they tire. But; she was never one to be usually spent. Could it be the lack of sleep? Her feet stepped on wooden pavement, cold overnight by the window she purposely left open. Slowly, she walked t'wards the mirror for a quick glance of herself. Beautiful, as always and ever will be, a hand combed through her hair. She systematically cleaned herself behind a thin partition with a ceramic bowl of clean water and a small piece of white towel. Dressing up for an unforgettable occasion, the woman chose the most refined of her dresses… in a wardrobe of refined clothing. It always proved to be a task to choose the most suitable, but she found contentment in her favorite shade of dark firebrick. Amidst her fashion-making, she called upon her maid to prepare her carriage, and a reminder of her leave, as well as her return in the evening. Leaving her home caused her sheer comfort, for times in her aloneness felt lonesome, and her destination may bring her happiness. The carriage left its thorned gates, the horses ran wildly with thunderous clacking of metal against stone, and she breathed out a heavy sigh underneath her ebony cloak as it covered her head with the hood. Her cheeks felt warm as she touched them, and she felt her blood arising through, as her spine shivered in excitement at the thought of meeting him, as if an innocent lady in her teens about to cross paths with the prince of her wonderful dreams, her smile was wide… but filled with hidden meaning. Her view of the city was extravagant, and she found pleasure in its roads so misty and odd as she quickly headed towards the end of her journey. Elise’s feet stepped out of her ride, heeled shoes that were just as black as the carriage she arrived in, followed by the rest of her body, a body men would die for, just to spend the night with. Staring at the entrance, another heavy breath was made by the temptress. Did she look beautiful enough? Can she be more pleasing for the one she were to visit? Her notice was caught by the sight of her path, and quickly her thoughts were in vain. Trekking through grass showered in morning dew was not how a woman, whose clothing’s hem reached the dampness of the ground, wished to start the coming of a gloomily clouded day. Her bravura for silk proved useless as it stained the red fabric in her ever enchanting steps. At least, there was a rational justification for her to leave the mansion, a mansion as murkily dark as the very clouds that scattered throughout the city of Noxus. Stopping in her tracks, she faced a large tomb, the size of a peasant’s hut, where she entered to see where her husband rested, six feet beneath marble and dry soil. Where she went was the cemetery minutes and minutes away from the Immortal Bastion. Elise stood there, smiling, a rose in hand, as red as the lips that improved the beauty of her ivory teeth in such a greedy smile. Those who knew the story would understand the grin wasn’t out of kindness. “My sweetest, we meet again,” her tone purred while setting down the thorned flower in the middle of his wake with a crouch. Elise dusted off the dead and dry leaves that became piling up from lack of maintenance. Her hands were protected by leather gloves. She read the name only with her eyes, and her smile did not fade from seeing him in such a pitiful state. “Do you remember when we first met?” The quick flash of memory caused her to chuckle as she gently dusted off the dirt from her leather, to rise up and stand. “I was young back then. Unlike most ladies, instead of being easily seduced, I was the one who made men crawl beneath me like dogs yearning the nectar of their master’s skin. Is that not why I caught your gaze? You couldn’t easily capture my heart as you did so easily with others.” And that’s what caused his downfall, she thought to herself as she walked around his tomb. Clearly she remembered the scene of how he knelt down on one knee to ask four simple words. For a powerful man to kneel before her, it was almost ecstatic. That was back then. Still, she was as ambitious as ever, and was that not why it also caused her who she was this very day? So many questions to an already burdened mind. Then and there, her gentle smile faded quicker than it appeared, and suddenly Elise resorted to maniacal laughter. “You were pathetic, hardly a challenge to woo.” A scoff was made, looking down at him with a sneer to disrespect him and his very ancestors. “I should thank you. Believe it or not…” she paused, looking outside for any living soul that could hear the next words she were to utter; “… I almost fell for you.” “You were dashing, and you said you will give me the world.” But now, such words were typical for her to hear, as if an old boring song. Many people promised her the world, but could not give the most priceless of things; love. The woman was happy, for she longed for love and children, only to lose it to gain a higher calling. She shrugged her shoulders, taking in the Noxian air as her hands traveled to her chin, fingers stroking the plumpness of her bottom lip. “I remember how you gave me roses, and how you said my lips make the flowers grow in shame. You were a poet, and perhaps that was the only thing I loved in you. Do you remember that, my love?” Staying longer was a clear waste of her time. Why did she still linger? “Why do I visit this day, every year? Hah, I’m sure you know, my darling.” “Farewell, my master of Zaavan.” Even his dead title caused her joy, a joy few can comprehend. It was not the day he proposed, it was not the day she said yes, nor was it the day bells rang and doves flew gorgeously in the clear, blue sky as people congratulated and wished them well—not the day of their unison and marriage. But they were never truly one, were they? They were two hearts craving only for one thing, and that is power. This was the day she stabbed his heart with a cold blade and a twist as his blood oozed out from his wretched body, how he fell in their room with a large echoing thump, that still echoed every time she entered. This; this was the day she killed him, the day where everything shifted in the life of the matron as he entered his demise and betrayal. Hilarious it was he couldn’t call to the Spear of Vengeance, for he was a betrayer himself. If Farya and Wolyo greeted him, would they remember her treachery? She hoped both entities watched how she cruelly curled the blade around his chest. Why did it hurt? Just now, her heart stung at the memory. The dead husband remembered her as a monster. Perhaps it was her only regret. Elise walked out of the burial, hands clenched tightly against the other. With one last glace, she loathed the grave, wishing to spit if it wasn’t so lady-like. With one last message, she said. “You ruined me, and I ended you,” and she left with a smile.