#DelacroixWitch

[mayzecaite]

Mayze’s character profile updated for the city of Nuwraith, Death by Moonlight sim.

[mayzecaite]

Death Becomes Us | The Proposition (RP I)

A Roleplay between Aeron Waythe and Mayzecaite Delacroix.

Aeron Waythe:

The sun had just dropped below the horizon when he reached the gate, the long shadows giving way to the finality of the darkness. He always hated this time of first dark, when the world was at its most beautiful at sunset only to give way to the enveloping black.  Turning everything in its path to dull gray, then finally black.

The night was when his gift came to its full power, when the space between this world and the next was at its thinnest.

He adjusted his traveling cloak and continued walking the path to the main house. His boots making no sound as he continued up the long path. "This had better work," he told himself as the lights of the mansion came closer.

He hesitated just as his foot touched the first stair leading to the massive door. He was suddenly acutely aware of just how many spirits were trapped here. He had been able to hold back their growing presence, but now in the dark was their time, and they saw him.

His senses were suddenly assaulted with intense feelings of hate, endless sorrow and regret. All directed toward the woman who lived here. He hated her already.

He gathered himself and strode the final steps to the door. Three bangs later on the old knocker and the door slowly creaked open. "Good evening," he said to the doorman, trying to ignore the calls of angered dead that surrounded the mansion. "I'm looking for Lady Delacroix.  Please tell her that Aeron Waythe is here."

Mayzecaite Delacroix: “What is it? Stop hovering,” Mayzecaite threw at her reflection as the man appeared in the doorway behind her.

“Mistress, my apologies I,” the valet started, stammering. “You have a visitor, a Lord Aeron Waythe.”

She gave a look of disappointment as she ran her brush through a lock of dark, silky hair and then returned it to the vanity before her. “League, was I not clear in your duties? You are to turn away anyone who comes calling after dark.” Mayze’s lips pursed at one corner as she rose from her stool. The man, her newly hired valet, took a step backward and bowed low.

In her profession, she made it a rule that she would not receive guests during the night. It was when the spirits were most agitated, and she preferred to choose the time in which she invoked them or came into contact with them. The witch cinched her satin robe securely about her small frame and turned to him.

“My apologies, Mistress I,” he mumbled again.

“League, follow,” she called over her shoulder once she passed him in the hallway. She could hear his footsteps shuffling behind her, and the rustling of robes as her skeleton minion donned a cloak and hood to cover much of his frame. The bones of his feet were still visible beneath the dark cloth swishing about his ankles.

In unison, they descended the stairs. Mayzecaite entered the room first, followed by her minion who took his place impassively at the doorway. The valet stayed out of sight. The bone witch stopped out of arms reach of the visitor, “Lord Waythe,” she said, offering nothing more because at first she was annoyed at having a visitor so late in the evening and wanted to keep the meeting, no matter the nature, as brief as possible.

But once near him, she could better see the darkly clad stranger, a shaved head (curious, but a nice shape all the same), facial hair hiding his jaw line (well done, not too dense and certainly not sparse). He was quite attractive, and she was sure many women would swoon in his presence if he were to turn his gaze in their direction. Her posture changed rather suddenly and she blinked, lifting a hand to strands of long hair resting over one shoulder. “Mayzecaite Delacroix,” she said in a low voice rich and smooth as honey, fingers playing at silken tresses as her eyes glinted with interest. “League, bring us some tea,” she called, a small impish smile adorning her lips.

Aeron Waythe:

Aeron was immediately uncomfortable in the presence of the witch.  Firstly, her aura was not like anything he had ever encountered before among the living.  It surged off her in waves that were never the same hue or intensity, always moving, ever changing.  It had been washing off her in dazzling sparks of yellow and purples as she came down the stairs with her servant, forewarning her annoyance.

As her eyes caught him, it changed again to deep reds of hesitation with tinges of what could only be described as the color of blood.  Secondly, and most alarming, was that she was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Her eyes were a deep azure that kept his gaze fixed and threw everything around her out of focus.  Two pinpoints of starlight that measured him and found him wanting.  Her hair fell around her in a wave of darkness that was both effortless and magical.  The light from the fire shown behind her and cast her in a light where he could only make out the slightest shape of her exquisite body.  She seemed to be aflame in the very essence of desire.  His mind cried “RUN” but he had to stay, to know, but he must not touch her…

He had known women, but encounters were very rare and ill-advised due to his reaction to human contact.  As a condition of his unique lineage, the slightest touch of human skin broke the mental shields that he had developed over a lifetime to keep the hungry spirits at bay, letting them feed off this simple interaction and, as a byproduct, bringing him to the very heights of human pleasure.  

He immediately regretted his decision to come at night.  The mental barriers that he used to keep the urges of the dead away were at their weakest; and the dead crave life, especially given the affinity for humans to lust.  Her presence only made it worse.  Aeron forcibly shifted his gaze from her blue eyes and crossed his hands behind his back.

“Lady Delacroix,” Aeron said, bringing himself up to his full height.  “Thank you for agreeing to see me, I apologize for the lateness of the hour.  I do hope I didn’t disturb you.”

They moved into the sitting room nearer to the fire.  He reached and took the tea with his gloved hand and asked if he could sit.  She nodded nonchalantly and he took a seat in the chair by the fire.

Aeron took a sip and measured his next words, carefully trying not to look too long at the witch in the chair across from him.  Her robe had slid away partially from her crossed legs, revealing toned and supple thighs.  He forced his heart rate to slow and as he regained his composure he cleared his throat and spoke.  “I have a proposition for you.” Aeron said casually as cacophony of dead voices screamed at him from every corner of the room.

Mayzecaite Delacroix: She kept hidden another smile which threatened to surface. Being so close to him was intoxicating. And it was more than the fact there had been no handsome man in-between her sheets the past week. There was something about this stranger she could not put her finger on. She was drawn to him, but was it simply because of the late hour, or because he was incredibly sexy in his brooding way and with each movement he made, the scent of leather wafted about them? She felt the desire to move closer to him, but he had already turned his attention toward the roaring fire.

"I am sure you will make it worth my while," she said in response to him and led him to the sitting area. Once seated, her gaze seemed to be intent on his form as the cup was lifted to his lips, then her eyes dropped to linger on his mouth as he spoke, and her smile did finally return. "Of course you have a proposition for me, Lord Waythe." The necromancer's narrowed gaze traveled upward once more, a brazen attempt to capture his as her fingers seemed to move absently along her exposed thigh.

'Why else would you be here at this hour?" She chided, continuing, "You fully dressed, and I in my robe." An arched brow rose as she gave a slight tilt of her head, her manner solemn. "Why don't you remove your cloak and gloves and be a proper gentleman caller if you plan to proposition me in the dead of night." Her smile faltered then, fading into the shadows of the room.

Aeron Waythe:

“Please, call me Aeron, my Lady.”

His pulse quickened as she spoke, her voice was smooth as silk but he had travelled enough to know that it could be tinged with poison.

He knew his continued hesitation to remove his outerwear would only arouse suspicion and be considered rude. So despite his better judgement he thanked her and stood to remove his heavy cloak and traveling gloves. All the while staying just out of reach. “My apologies.” He said and sat back down taking quick glances with his night eyes at her ever more welcoming posture.

During the day he saw as every human does, with the exception of also seeing the spirits of the dead. At night, his vision shifted, taking in all manner of horrors. He had his father’s eyes.

Her aura was a deep rose color now and flowed off her body and glided toward his chair. He reflexively sat back and took a deep breath, taking in her intoxicatingly sweet smell.

“I do appreciate your generosity for seeing me.” He said, letting his eyes rest on hers for a brief moment. She didn’t seemed phased by his appearance and milk white eyes. He was used to a certain bit of unease from people at his gaze but she seemed to want to hold his focus. As much as he tried to pull away, he found himself unable to avert his eyes elsewhere.

The hungry dead constantly lurking closer and closer, praying for him to slip and allow her touch. Oh how they wanted her to touch him; with both hatred and unbridled desire they could sense the living beings attraction to each other mounting.

“I need your help,” he said finally after again glancing at her thighs. “I’m looking for my father.” He added.

Mayzecaite Delacroix:

Mayzecaite folded her arms over her chest as she appeared to patiently wait for him to remove his cloak and gloves. His clothing was exquisite - expensive materials were used in the tailoring of the crisp white and soft grey ensemble. Waythe, she thought, eyeing the signet ring on his left hand when he was busy removing his other glove. She stood as he sat, sliding her glance in the direction of the fire. Had she heard the name before? Obviously a wealthy family, but she did not recall doing business with them in the past.

“Lord Waythe,” she began, making it clear they would not be on a first-name basis, and stepped toward the fireplace keeping her back to him. The heat emanating from the flame-licked wood felt soothing, but she was certainly not chilled, she was merely buying time as she thought over the past couple minutes. “I am not in the business of hunting missing persons. Unless, of course, your father is dead.” She hesitated only a moment before proceeding, half-turning her head so he could see her profile, “In which case I can be of assistance there, but it -will- cost you.” A heartbeat later she turned back toward the growing flames, listening for the pop and crackle of the fire, and awaiting his response. She knew whatever exorbitant amount she mentioned was one he could afford given his impeccably groomed state.

Aeron Waythe:

Aeron was completely taken aback at the brazen request of the woman.  A sudden flash of heat rose to his face, both in anger and in fear.  "You cannot know what you ask!" He blurted, his voice suddenly and uncontrollably rose, cracking the foundation of years of stoic etiquette forced on him as a child.  The anxious spirits howled in excitement at the change of events. The radius of their pacing decreased with each moment in anticipation.

Her insistence on him being searched was not unfounded.  She was, after all, a woman living alone after dark and he was a stranger to her.   However logical the request, it was not lost on him that he was, most likely, the vulnerable one during this encounter.  She was a very powerful witch and based on his extra-sensory ability to hear and feel the departed souls that moved throughout the residence, she was not likely to be forgiving of his refusal.

Nonetheless, Aeron took a long breath and tried to de-escalate the situation.  "Lady Delacroix, I apologize for raising my voice and I do understand your hesitation." He said gently, letting his cool eyes rest on hers in an act of pure contrition.   "Were I in your place, I would no doubt have the same trepidation."  

He raised his hands and slowly moved adjacent to her near the mantle so she could clearly see him in the firelight.  It was the first time he dared being this close to her.  The smell of lavender and perfume wafted  off her skin and hair in a way that nearly broke his will.  He stared into her crystal blue eyes in an attempt to convey a trusting affect.  Being this close to her was intoxicating to the point of insanity.

"But please believe that I mean you no harm." Aeron added and hoped he sounded convincing.

Aeron broke the gaze between them and moved out of the firelight. "It is not by chance that I seek you out tonight." He said. "I went to your sisters first and they were no help." He added.

Aeron considered the situation a moment longer and glanced at both the one she had called League and the skeletal minion cloaked by the door. He made a calculated guess  and spoke to her all the while looking directly at the cloaked and hooked figure standing motionless near where she had entered the room. "If you must insist on a search to allay your unease, then i wound ask that your servant by the door perform it."

[mayzecaite]

Twisting Curses for the Right Price

She lined up her mixing bowls, wooden spoons, and a large pot on the wooden block counter top. The wood surface and assembled pieces were well oiled and smelled of seasonings from years of use, and she loved how her surroundings put her at ease. The entire room was comforting though she did not use the kitchen to cook, Cook cooked and did a damn fine job. But this was the one space inside her rather large home where she felt in total control. She felt powerful when she was in control of the fate of others.

Mayzecaite's fingers gently flipped through her grimoire until she located the page she sought. It was a recipe she had written, and tested, a few months ago. The client, an elderly man with a deep hatred for his wife, had offered her a large sum to "make his wife the most hideous creature alive". She did not question him then or after. She never asked for their reasoning, for what drove these imbiciles toward such twisted desires. No, when clients came to her with requests, she simply took their money and started formulating a recipe that would do the trick. If she felt it worth her while.

She had many formulae passed down from her coven, but Mayzecaite found great satisfaction in writing her own. There really was not anything she deemed taboo, especially if the payment was... just right.

Her eyes carefully read over the list of ingredients and then danced over to the jars of materials placed in a half moon before her: A toad's foot, sage leaves, dandelion root, cat dung paste, four completely dried and pressed orange rose petals. Just one ingredient missing.

"The package," the witch said, outstretching her hand. Her skeletal minion gingerly placed the item there and backed away. She peered inside for the second time that day.

"Sit," she commanded, reaching for her make-shift wooden tongs and removed the foul smelling item from its sleeve.

Odd that he chose a clump of eyelashes, she mused yet again. The dark, curled lashes were still attached to part of an eyelid.

"At ease, my pet," Mayzecaite said, her voice softer now as she placed the last ingredient on a folded bit of cloth positioned beside the toad's foot. She walked around the wooden counter to retrieve a sack of salt from a corner of her workspace. Her skeletal minion sat on a nearby chair as told, waiting for his Mistress to finish.

She heard the water begin to rumble, near boiling, as she bent at the waist and poured the salt onto the floor. The salt made a shushing sound as it made contact with the planks. Soft and soothing, yet heavy and dense. The ritual ring now circled the entire kitchen island and would provide the rest of the house safety as she twisted the curse. A detestable curse, it was. She would hate to be the recipient of such a thing.

As the water bubbled up, Mayzecaite carefully placed the sack of salt back to its resting place and added the ingredients to the bubbling pot in the specific order noted in her journal. And for the last two components, the witch wrapped the freshly severed toad's foot around the bits of eyelid and lashes, and tied them together with twine. They were added to the boiling water as she chanted her words of incantation, and an orange smoke rose in a puff of tangerine cloud before thinning out and dissipating completely.

She removed the pot from heat, allowing it to simmer and eventually cool. A bit of cheesecloth was worked over the mouth of an empty, clear jar before she poured the terrible concoction through the cloth, so that only the liquid was transferred. Her client would be there soon to pick up his package, and he would be instructed to add the contents of the liquid vial to his chosen recipient's food or drink. The victim’s skin would soon begin to blister and strip away.

[mayzecaite]

Mayzecaite (for Majestic’s Kingdom of the Forsaken - IMVU)

[mayzecaite]

From the roleplay Of Pastry Chefs and Dead Ex-Lovers @ Bread Box Bakery in Majestic's Kingdom Of The Forsaken ll

[mayzecaite]

My home in Majestic.

[mayzecaite]

Mayzecaite lifted her chin, giving a curt nod to Windslagon as she formerly acknowledged him. "Well met," was all she said as she peered at him through narrowing eyes. There were so many thoughts dancing about her head, but she did not share them and kept them closely guarded. Soon. Yes, soon. She returned her full attention to her sister. "You are too kind, dear sister of mine," she said as she rose from her chair and reached to take Vampress' hand so she could hold it briefly within her own. "I do remember my chambers quite well". Her eyes glistened as she leaned toward Vampress, whispering, "I think I shall find Tomasin to escort me." She winked, long, dark lashes brushing her cheek as she straightened. "And I cannot wait to chat with your mate." This last was said so she could be overheard by anyone willing to listen. She stood tall, and made her way out the throne room, searching for the deliciously handsome guard.

Latest RP @ Majestic’s Kingdom of the Forsaken

[mayzecaite]

The domain name has changed, but this is still a collection of my RP characters and inspiration throughout the years. The domain name was chosen after my newest RP character, Mayzecaite Delacroix. She is a witch who dabbles in raising the dead. Reanimation is her talent, mastering the undead servant, her passion.

[mayzecaite]

Mayzecaite Delacroix (SecondLife)

Working on bringing Mayzecaite Delacroix into SecondLife.

[mayzecaite]

Entry I: A Most Interesting Stranger

Mayzecaite reclined slowly, arms resting atop each arm rest of the chair in which she sat. She stared at the one sitting across from her. "You understand the ramifications then," she murmured, her glossed lips curling with her snideness, inviting his gaze to fall there.

A nod was all that the visitor gave. He seemed immune to her charms.

And with a heavy-lidded gaze she studied him, her eyes traveling over the shadowed features of his face, discerning the long bridge of his narrow nose and the gentle curve of his cupid's bow. And, of course, they rested then to the fullness of his lips. Lips that only moments ago spilled forth words that were meant to disarm and offend her. Lips which moved even now, though she paid no mind to what it was he was saying. She felt the distinct stir of longing, and in that moment, how she wanted to overpower his mouth with hers! To take what he would not freely give because he despised her more than she despised him. And it took nearly all she had not to leap from her chair and lift her skirts, before lowering herself onto his lap so she could take him fully.

"What is happening to me? I despise you," her mind screamed as her eyes burned with indignation. Her hands gripped the fabric beneath her fingertips, if only briefly, but her flushing cheeks heated as she felt his gaze shift. He had noticed, and he was amused now. Hatred fading to disparaging amusement. She could see it all dancing in his eyes as the tallow's light lit those dark orbs where only a heartbeat ago they were engulfed in shadow.

She took a deep breath, maybe two, clearing her head. Mayzecaite drew herself up, standing now to tower over him but her gaze fell elsewhere, on the roaring fire behind him, perhaps.  "Leave the payment on the table, half now and the remainder in two days time when the curse is ready," she snapped with a frigid hauteur, motioning to one of her house staff to see to the stranger as she made her way out of the room.

She heard the pouch of heavy coin drop to the table a second later, but she was surprised she could hear anything at all over the frantic drumming of her heart as if it begged to break free from her chest.

[mayzecaite]

Mayzecaite Delacroix | Character Profile

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[mayzecaite]

Mayzecaite circled the pool of water, and gave a small nod of acknowledgement to the two supping tea at the nearby table. She recalled then, that there were hushed tones as soon as she stepped foot onto the cobblestone. Whispers followed her everywhere. She hid a small smirk which threatened to play at the corner of her lips. She knew Marcus, her current minion standing just behind her and to her right, smelled of earth, and death, and moss, and rot. The scent had never bothered her. In fact, it was one she could easily put aside, because mastering the undead was a great passion, and Mayze had devoted her entire life to reanimation and control. On any good day, Mayzecaite was cordial, giving respect to another when it was due, and demanding respect from others always. But the astonished faces of the man and his mistress, and the audible sound of the fair-haired woman's scoff and disregard caused the witch to turn about and face her fully. Mayzecaite hurriedly closed the distance between them so that she stood dangerously close to the table, looking down her fine nose to catch and hold the dark gaze of the woman. There was something savage and fierce in the witch's eyes. "The Queen. Tell her I am here and wish to speak with her," she said flatly, her voice not quite matching the fury which flashed in her eyes a moment before. The other woman, once scornful, now looking bewildered and frightened, stood and made her way quickly inside. Mayzecaite could overhear the woman talking with a guard as Mayze swung a curious glance over to the male companion still seated at the table. He hadn't touched his tea in some time.

Latest RP @ Majestic's Kingdom of the Forsaken

[mayzecaite]

The Animator

I could feel you Before you even came to me. I could hear you When I longed for company. I could see and smell and taste, And knew you were not far. We were so close. Now which one of us is marred?

Why didn't you take me When you had the chance? You could have loved me once. Your Queen. Your Mistress. But to tempt me... You were not skilled in trickery. You wanted to challenge me. You are out of your league, But here I come.

And I had you. In the palm of my hand I held you. In the back of my mind I knew it Would end like this. It always ends like this. Your very essence was mine When you gave it all to me.

I asked you once, Do you really want to hand it over? Do you really want to give up everything?

An innocent affair, A whirlwind passion Gone, gone, gone. You left it all behind When you walked into my field of vision. And here I come, After you.

And I had you. In the palm of my hand I caressed you. And deep in my heart I discovered what to do. You were mine when your name fell upon my lips. Only mine, when you walked through that door.

So you dare to take me on. You know I have you, And you don't have long. In the palm of my hand Bone turns to dust.

Forever mine, The incantation dances from my lips. An empty grave, Your last lover. I animate you.

Now come, My beast. There's no turning back.

**Written for my necromancer Chloe Delacroix

[mayzecaite]

Entry II | Chloe Delacroix

Chloe Delacroix Entry II:

She turned the page and continued to read aloud, "He wasn't sure what he should do next."  Chloe paused, closing the book as she gave him a sidelong glance.  He seemed more responsive to her when she read to him at night.   "Chloe?  Everything alright?" Came the voice from the other side of the door.   "Yes, Em," Chloe responded rather quickly.  "Why?" She baited as she reached for the wash cloth and gingerly rubbed at her arms.  The bathwater was still a little warm and soapy thanks to her companion. The concern was evident in Embrose's voice as she asked, "Who are you talking to in there?" Chloe bit back a chuckle as the cloth continued up her arm to her shoulder.  "Soap," she softly said, and then louder to her cousin, "Who else?" She quipped as she leaned back and watched him clumsily pour in the plumeria scented liquid.  "Mix," she ordered him, softly still. "Gods, Chloe, do you have that damned skeleton in there with you?"  The astonishment rang clear in Embrose's voice.  With each word fleeing fiercely from Chloe's cousin's lips, her voice rose an octave higher. Chloe sighed, wiggling her toes and listening to the tiny splashes they made as they moved in the water.  She laid back into the tub.  "Uh huh," was her response.  "He has done so well and I am on his last bone, Embrose.  Plus, Aunt Ilisaebet blessed him for me so he's stronger now than he has been in a very long time."  She turned her head fully, as she said the last, to regard her minion.  She would miss him when he was gone because he had served her well.   Whatever Embrose said next was ignored as Chloe thought of the remaining bones of Jerome, Embrose's ex-husband.  Embrose's only husband as much as she knew.  He had been the very man Embrose despised. "If I lose Hermey, I'll have to summon Jerome next," she said and waited for Embrose's reaction.  Nothing.  She was sure Embrose was gone.  Her teeth raked over her lower lip as she grinned, sitting up.  "Towel," she said curtly and rose from the water.   Chloe toweled off and took Hermey's waiting hand to balance her as she stepped out of the tub.  "Door," she said as she quickly wrapped the towel around her chest, leading him out of the small lavatory once he awkwardly obeyed her command.