#springtime in the rockies | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daddyhausen · 3 months ago

Note

hello, I love your writing so much!! I wanted to ask you, would you be down to write nosferatu!sleep token? You can do iii or vessel x reader (very possessive, protective, almost stalker-ish, monster style), whichever you want. I just love the new nosferatu movie so much and was curious if would write something like that. Thank you in advance, love you🤍

honestly could not choose between them so you’re getting both xx

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｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡「 OUR AFFLICTION 」｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

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「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 MUSICIAN/BAND MASTERLIST 」 | 「 VESSEL MASTERLIST 」 | 「 III MASTERLIST 」

「 COMMISSION INFO 」 | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」

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「 SUMMARY 」 — a secluded getaway was just what you and your new husband needed. the catch is, the two of you were not completely alone

「 WARNINGS 」 — 18+ 「 MINORS DNI 」, DD: DNE,

「 TAGS 」 — [ nsfw ] [ smut ] [ threesome ] [ cnc ] [ noncon to dubcon ] [ vampires ] [ nosferatu inspired ] [ biting ] [ monsterfucking ] [ blood drinking ] [ blood play ] [ pussy eating ] [ double penetration ] [ double vaginal penetration ] [ blowjob ] [ face fucking ] [ throat fucking ] [ throatpie ] [ hair pulling ] [ degradation ] [ cuckolding ] [ phantom sex ] [ multiple orgasms ] [ sleep paralysis ] [ male + female orgasms ] [ squirting ] [ internal cumshots ] [ vaginal creampie ]

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 7.5k

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x vamp!vessel + vamp!iii

「 GENRE 」 — smut

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「 TAGLIST 」 — @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @mjfass @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @janetreader @bonehead-playz @legit9thlunaticwarrior @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @harmshake @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @selena-tyler-564 @nev-danielgarciawife @teenagedramaqueenlisa @miss-whiddlesmort @dykekota @summertimefun1982 @thebettergothgirl @inv3ga-sust3nna

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「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

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the carriage ride is more mundane than you expected, three hours traversing on a horse-drawn carriage over rocky slopes and muddy roads is enough to bore any woman out of her mind especially when your husband rambles on about business, real estate mostly. not that you pay much attention to detail so on and so forth. this is not what you were anticipating for your honeymoon. you were expecting a romantic getaway, someplace where your newfound husband would for once not go on about his business. now you are sitting in a carriage, on your way to spend your honeymoon in some drab castle your husband has listed to sell. you glance outside the carriage window, rolling hills of splendorous greenery for miles to come, the sunset melting into it, a mix of warm oranges and yellows of a traditional sunset, but the clouds hang low, grey, and heavy, brewing with an incoming storm. your view is interrupted by the swish of the driver’s whip, a flash of leather obscuring your vision of the wildflowers.

“awful weather, this time of year isn’t it?” you mention, still keeping your gaze out of the window, the clouds ominous as they loom over the mountains.

your husband’s ears perk up at the comment, almost confused by your sudden will of voice, since you’d been as silent as a field mouse the entire carriage ride.

“that is because it’s the beginning of springtime here, my darling. the weather isn’t as warm as it is back home”

“don’t patronize me, love.” you retort, a hint of amusement on your tongue, shuffling closer to the door of the carriage to gain a better view of the wildflowers, a mixture of rich blues and purples from native lilacs, their powdery scent, reflective of almonds as they seemed to flutter through the breeze, you inhale deeply, reminiscent of your wedding day, your husband had a large bouquet imported from these romanian fields, the scent – although not as crisp as the natives, still conjure up the sweetest of memories, kept locked away in the museum of your mind.

your husband takes your hand, smoothing over the back of your palm with his thumb in ginger circles, a soft smile falling onto his lips. he notices your apprehension, the tired, far-away look your eyes hold, riddled with exhaustion from the gruelling trip.

“not too long now, my love” he reassures.

you give an acknowledging nod, your eyes finally meet the two of your clasped hands. in truth, you had no idea what your husband had mentioned or what place he had acquired for the month. he already had your bags packed for this trip before you had the chance to consummate the marriage.

“i just wish you would consult me before making such decisions.”

he releases your hand, not before placing a chaste kiss on the back of your palm

“what consulting would there need to be? you're my wife now, i don’t want you to worry about such things.”

“this is not exactly how i planned on spending my honeymoon, is all”

“darling, have a little bit of optimism for once. trust me, you’ll love the place”

you chew the inside of your cheek, holding your tongue from spitting any incredulous words in his direction, even if it were to take the remainder of the carriage ride. your husband’s voice fades into the background amongst the scuff of carriage wheels against rock and the whinnies of horses. don’t kid yourself you love your husband, dearly. you wish sometimes he would consider things with you in mind, the wedding venue for example, a lush vineyard in the south of italy, sicily to be exact and while the scenery itself was gorgeous no doubt, you had implored for emilia-romania, finding the cooler climate better suited to your taste, you were never one for dry climates. even then a destination wedding was not the first recommendation on your list, what with elderly grandparents, an ailing father, and an aunt, getting them to the wedding proved more of a chore than anything else.

you let out a sigh, a short bitter one though your teeth. fingers idly twisting loose strands of lace from your dress sleeve, providing some form of distraction to your husbands incessant ramblings, you did admire his…his conviction, yes…how passionate he was about his business, it all he ever talks about it seems, even before the two of you were wed.

he’d buy you a house fit for a queen, yet a queen you did not need to be. luxuries did not mean a thing to you, you’d rather have a simple, modest home, with enough room to house yourself, your husband and a couple of children, maybe a pet – a cat perhaps, not a dog…far too excitable. and you’d rather not hear your thoughts echo off empty walls in a cacophonous mockery.

“stunning isn’t it?” your husband’s voice perked you out of your thoughts.

“hmm?” you blink, humming absentmindedly.

your husband points outside the window, your eyes follow up his arm to where his finger is pointing. beyond the horizon, just peeking out from behind the hillscape, lays a gargantuan castle, standing tall and proud within a mountain slope, a stone bridge connecting the two paths. the sky darkens upon arrival, clouds almost black, and a ravenous grumble of thunder seems to wash over the landscape, despite neither you nor your husband hearing anything.

it is surely a beautiful sight, the basalt and calcite pillars seem rooted into the earth, holding up the monstrosity of dark brick and stone.

“y-yes..it is…” you clear your throat, the castle seems far more imposing now the two of you are sitting in front of it.

you could see the vines of ivy scattered along the pillars, climbing desperately to reach even the faintest bit of sunlight. oddly…you could relate.

your husband thanks the driver, tipping him a handsome sum for his troubles, retrieving your baggage from the back of the carriage, you watch him converse with the doorman so effortlessly, confidence comes naturally to him which you can applaud. you’d surely be burning up in anxiety even at the thought.

taking slow steps outside of the carriage, you peer upward to glance at the towering door before you, sturdy and made of spruce, metal carvings of gargoyles and serpents, encircling a steel door knob. the door itself is held open by the doorman, a warm yet distant smile greeting you, a smile that seems to look past you, not quite fully meeting his eyes.

you offer him a nod in passing, entering the castle. darkness surrounds you, quite literally, the room encased in blackstone and the basalt leaking in from the external walls. ceiling high and revered, candelabra chandeliers hung by rusting chains with unlit and freshly snuffled candles, that creak every time they swing, so ominously as you walk underneath them as if they planned to drop on you any minute. the entrance remains the same for what seems like miles, a repetition of chandelier and pillar, chandelier and pillar with a suit of armour or decorative painting in between said pillars.

there is a stench of dust in the air, one that makes your nose itch and your eyes water. you scrunch your nose to be rid of the sensation.

“well it…” you pause following your husband up the staircase, a hand running over the spiral knob of a dark oak banister, a handprint left in the wake of where the dust used to be. you clear your throat.

“it's surely been lived in,” you mention, lamenting almost, noticing the spiderwebs glistening under sunlight, almost pearlescent in their colour through the windows.

“it is an old castle, you can not expect it to be pristine all of the time” he remarks, almost giddy as he examines the intricate spirals and swirls carved into the banister with such expert craftsmanship, it must have taken the carpenter months to complete.

“but not to worry, darling. i made sure the bedroom is up to your standards”

the bedroom, in truth, is glorious despite how much you want to disagree, the ceilings remain high like the rest of the house, the candelabra chandelier is now lit with warm, glowing wax candles, the bed, a giant thing it is, a bed frame made from mahogany, with the same spiral signature of the unknown carpenter that had done the banisters, splayed with a deep maroon bedspread and black velvet throw cushions with lace trimmings to match. you take a seat at the foot of your bed with a sigh, spreading down the sheets with your palm, more so to check if it too is coated in dust.

“are you tired, darling? perhaps you should rest before dinner”

“i am quite refreshed from the carriage ride, i might have a stroll around the garden if that's all right”

any excuse to stretch your legs i suppose, and to escape from the dust-ridden closet that was this castle, even for a few moments.

you trudge down the stairs, fists full of your skirts to not dirty them on the dusty wood. you kept a vigilant eye, on the watch for any servants that lurked about, offering you directions to the nearest exit. at the foot of the staircase, you spotted one, an elderly woman, skin pallor and hair white as chalk, matted into some sort of bird's nest, unkempt. her attire is tattered, the skirts of her dress filled with holes, chewed through by moths covered in grime and dirt, yet no stench possessed her, if anything, she smelt…clean.

“excuse me?” you ask, flagging her down. “could you perhaps direct me to the garden?”

the servant woman turns to you, pallor skin wrinkled and aged, eyes glassy, cataracts cloud her vision all milky and white, despite this she stares directly at you. she opens her mouth to reveal a toothy grin, a rotten missing-teeth grin to be exact. the sight makes your stomach churn. she hums an unfamiliar tune as she feather dusts a candelabra, revealing the brassy exterior beneath the cloud of dust particles, the candle themselves freshly snuffed, and warm wax melts down the candlestick like cascading rivers, dripping onto her hand, she does not flinch.

“past the dining area to the hall” she points towards the south with a bony, decrepit finger, long witch-like nails all chipped and broken.

“thank you.” you respond quickly with a small bow of your head. not wanting to stay engaged in conversation any longer than you needed to. you pass the elderly woman, her eyes seeming to linger on you for longer than you were comfortable, seering through your skull as if she was sizing you up.

“a pretty thing you are. tell me, have you had children yet? your hips are wide, good for birthing” she taps your hips with the wooden stick of the feather duster.

you are taken aback by the intrusive question, your throat running dry as you are stumped for words.

“uhh…well no. i’ve only just married you see” despite the awkwardness you try to remain as polite as possible, despite the embarrassment burning on your cheeks and the uneasy sway in your step from foot to foot trying to distract yourself. the old woman simply hums with a nod of her head.

“the young masters will be satisfied with you” she murmurs.

you freeze.

“what?”

she turns away ignoring you, walking away with maid’s basket in hand, humming that same unfamiliar tune. you are overcome with a strange sense, possible paranoia perhaps? your husband made no mention of any residents living within the castle besides the servants who barely maintained it and why on god’s green earth would your husband even attempt to sell an occupied residential property? no… like you said before, just paranoia, and a strange old, possibly demented woman who still believes the old residents still roam amongst the halls. still, even as the woman walks away with her back towards you, you can feel those milky white irises piercing through you.

you shake your head to rid yourself of the thought and continue onward to the garden.

through the dining hall she said, an extravagant room it is, mahogany table that of the bed frame stretching as far as the room is wide, matching chairs with high back, velvet red and embroidered with decaying florals, the table has been left set, cutlery rusted, ceramic plates chipped and broken he cracks repaired with liquid gold despite their fragility. goblets encrusted with rubies and sapphires and emeralds galore, seemed rather strenuous to drink from. they still held stains of red wine around the rims.

you did not think the house would feel so occupied yet empty.

a painting caught your attention, plastered above the mantle of the fireplace, it glimmered with an alluring presence, even under drab candlelight. it draws you in, and on bated breath, you admire the two figures within it. both of them are tall, well above six feet. masculine, it was very evident. the taller of the two is lankier and thinner, his body shrouded in a grey suit, seemingly stitched to his body, a bushel of deep purple lilacs held in an inky black hand. just like the lilacs present in the field on the carriage ride over. he stands almost as if observing you, proud and cocky.

the second figure is draped in furs of presumably a wolf, his chest bare, specks of it covered with necklaces of silver and white gold. surely that would be a hindrance in the colder months, but then again you assume this was not their usual attire. his body is more defined than the first, and you could help the blush that spread to your cheeks. good god get a hold of yourself, you're a married woman for christ’s sake. you should not be fawning over a painting of two dead men. you shudder at the thought.

you continue to observe the painting, only to notice that their faces had been painted over with a maroon paint, still fresh as it trickled down the canvas, over their oil painted necks and chest. the paint was very fresh indeed, a metallic stench still lingered in the air as you covered your nose to hopefully mask the smell of it.

you recall the elderly women mentioning something about young masters, perhaps this painting was of them? you could only assume since it was definitely the most regal looking of all the paintings you’d encountered. how odd, why would their faces be painted out if that was the case? maybe they had done something in their lifetime that warranted the expulsion of their identity? god only knows.

the wind flutters against your skin as you step into the garden, it seems like the only well-kept thing on the entire property, wildflowers grow between your toes, and white hydrangeas and peonies line the garden beds for miles, mixed in with once again, those purple lilacs. hedges carved into shapes of angels and devils, separated on either side, in a constant yet stagnant battle, frozen in time. you pursue forward, feeling the lushness of the shrubbery against your fingertips, how green and alive it felt despite the decay and dreariness of the castle.

in the centre stands a statue made of marble, a fountain beneath it spraying out spurts of crystal clear water, and stone benches surrounding its diameter. the statue is of a woman, cloaks obscuring her features, much like the two figures from the painting, her identity erased. she seems more objectified. her stance is powerful, a scythe in her right hand, a reaper she may have been. from her back sprouted wings, defiant of the air around her as they stretched proud and wide. she is utterly beautiful. you sit on the stone bench across from her, simply admiring. had she been a real woman whose image was forever immortalised in the stone? maybe she was a lover of one of the masters? the marble around her feet began to decay as if she had made attempts to walk free from the stand she had been put on and for a brief moment, you connect with that. that yearning for escape despite in your right mind knowing there was nothing for you to escape from. you have a wonderful husband who adores you, a modest amount of wealth, not to mention your health.

there is no need for escape, no need for respite. your life is wondrous, perfect even. still, a sense of dread overcomes you, a coldness that freezes your bones and chills your skin. like ice over a pristine lake. the sensation is eerily similar to the way the woman had made you feel, those eyes boring into your soul, trying to pry the thoughts from your inner psyche. this is…far more intense, those eyes instead burrowing into your mind making a home inside your skull. your skin ripples with goosebumps as your gaze drifts away from the statue, it is not her gaze penetrating you, no. for her eyes are shielded. this gaze was far more sinister, more lustful. your eyebrows knot together trying to decipher whatever this feeling is.

you look around, surely you were alone, no other occupants seem to inhabit the garden, aside from the bumblebees that pollinate the surrounding flowers. gazing past the statue and the shrubbery you still see no one, how strange…maybe a solitary gardener had just finished pruning the hedges? yet that sensation still fills so…so…ominous…

rising to your feet you smooth down the skirts of your dress, taking a deep inhale to calm yourself. it’s nothing…surely nothing at all. your eyes linger on the hedge line for a moment, a shadowy figure silhouetted in the distance, it blurred by the leaves, standing ever so still amongst the greenery, blinking your eyes a couple of times and then fixating on it again, it was gone, just like that. you shook your head to once again rid yourself of the thought, your mind just filtered with exhaustion, paying it no mind as you enter back into the castle, feeling the brew of a storm rising, as the clouds lowered and the wind whistled like a sinister threat.

dinner could not have come soon enough, you were simply famished yet, your stomach had rescinded the offer to eat. a wild spread of pheasant and seasonal vegetables towered on your plate, the table scattered with white grapes, and red cherries so sweet the taste dances on your tongue, or so you’ve been told. you haven't had the stomach to try one just yet. crystal goblets carved with the most intricate of patterns, half full of merlot, not to your standards by any means but the taste allowed you some resolve from the swirl of emptiness in your stomach.

your husband sits across the table from you, so far across the dining hall that you might as well have been eating dinner alone. you watch him shovel food into his mouth, like a man starved, simply unbothered, fixated on it like a wolf on a deer. he paid you no mind in the hours leading up to dinner, he had been busy of course, writing correspondents to back and forth between realtors and clients, a strenuous task. but dear god it’s your honeymoon for christ’s sake, you wished he would pay you a smidge of affection aside from a chaste kiss or a parting waist grab. the silence seems to fill the room, servants wait on hand for the meal to be over and in truth, you did too. you never did cope well with the silence, it allows your mind to fill with things you’d rather forget, like those eyes of the elderly servant, or the invisible ones that preyed on you in the garden earlier, still feeling their coldness burn into your flesh. you shudder in your seat clearing your throat, pushing around the potatoes on your plate with your fork still not eating them.

“darling whatever is the matter, you’ve barely touched your plate” he speaks still with a mouthful of food, a half-eaten bread roll in one hand and a goblet of wine in the other.

“are you feeling unwell?”

you place your fork down, staring down at your full plate. your stomach grumbles with desperation, ravenous with hunger, yet the thought of bringing food to your lips, makes it churn in discomfort. especially with how paranoid you seem to feel right now. every so often your eyes dart up, seeing if you could catch a glimpse of that servant, or if the painting of the two young masters would have miraculously moved.

“i am alright. i just don’t have an appetite this evening” it is the half truth. in reality you did have an appetite for something and it certainly was not food. your mind wanders back to the sensation from the garden, even under the invisible gaze you shied away, cheeks blushed with an incredible heat, you felt…insatiable.

“oh, i'm sorry to hear that my love. whatever is the cause?”

you debate on telling him about the garden, the elderly woman’s words, the painting of the young masters and the way it almost made you melt into a puddle upon inspection. you bit the inside of your cheek, hard enough to break your concentration from such thoughts. you inhale shakily through your nose, an almost silent confirmation to continue.

“does this castle not seem strange to you?” you ask, picking up your fork again to prod now at the carrots in an attempt to distract yourself.

“whatever do you mean?” your husband asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“i met an elderly servant today, she mentioned something about her young masters–the ones in that painting behind you i assume..”

your husband nods his head as if he were listening, confusion is still evident on his features.

“the way she said it made it sound that they were still alive. now i must have misheard it surely” you continue, prodding at the carrot until the fork spears it.

“but when i was in the garden earlier, i felt…i felt like i was being watched. this intense sensation washed over me, i could not see anyone yet i felt their presence…”

your husband nods again, putting down his napkin on his plate after cleaning his mouth.

“darling like i said before it is an old castle, it was most likely a gardener.” he stands up, straightening his waistcoat. he strides over you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder as a form of reassurance.

“you look exhausted, why don't you head up to bed, i’ll be with you shortly” he offers yet another chaste kiss to your cheek. one that seems to dim the spark of your love for him. it was not enough, and your words weren’t exactly heard. maybe he is right, it is just the exhaustion from two days of long travel. the rest is what you need.

“alright…”

he smiles down at you softly. before retreating to the study down the hall, the servants begin hastily clearing the table in silence all before you had even risen from your seat. you stare up at the painting one last time, how their eyes seemed to bore into your soul while being obscured. good god you really needed sleep.

“thoughts still troubling you darling?”

your husband shuffles into bed beside you, fingers stained with ink from his quill as he pulls back the sheets. your body curled up in the blankets trying to retain the warmth of your body heat that seems to be sucked out by the cold brick of the bedroom.

“is is odd isn’t it? i felt someone’s eyes on me…”

“i’m sure it was nothing, just… try and get some sleep.”

he kisses your cheek turning off the oil lamp on his bedside. despite his presence the bed still felt empty. your husband is a busy man, pleasures of the flesh held no time in his schedule.

hours pass and the moon high in the sky. your husband's sound asleep beside you, back pressed against yours only heightened the emotional distance you felt, so much for a honeymoon. you only desire, even for one night on this cursed trip to be ravaged by him, taken apart and put back together again in exquisite pleasure. yet he remains asleep, snoring softly into the pillows.

you try to close your eyes, try to lull yourselves into the depths of sleep. counting backwards in your head, counting bloody sheep yet nothing prevails. the air in the bedroom grew still, a chill present in the air, eerily similar to what it was in the garden. your skin rose in goosebumps, unknowing yet anticipating. your head glued to the pillow, body turned on its side to curl further into the blankets, it would be easier if your husband was not hogging the majority of them.

and then…a rush of warmth floods your loins, and an unparalleled bout of arousal forms in between your thighs. feeling ever so similar to fingers yet, the only man present was your husband and heaven forbid he would even attempt such a thing. your eyes shoot open, an attempt to sit up only makes your thighs weak. the blankets now shuffled at your feet, back pressing against the headboard of your bed, nightgown tossed above your thighs, cunt slick and wet and exposed to the midnight air. yet you did not attempt to touch yourself for the strange phantom ministrations provide all the pleasure you desire.

“a pretty dove isn’t she?” a voice calls out from the corner of the room, your head swings around to meet the sound. in the corner, stands two figures familiar yet unknown. immediately, you go to wake your husband, shaking him in an attempt to alert him. yet he remains sound asleep.

“do not bother, he will not disturb us” the other voice calls out, more delicate in comparison to the other. your body froze, arousal still pooling in your loins as the phantoms of his fingertips ravage your insides. they step out from the shadows, their cloaks billowing in the wind from the open window. your eyes widen….them…oh god god not them….

the two young masters the old woman had told you about. the taller of the two, his stance was more aggressive. white hair was kept short and cropped, still donning that grey suit in the painting. long slender fingers twirl in small circles by his side, and you feel every single movement despite the lack of contact. the other one makes slow strides to the foot of the bed, his muscular frame looming over you, yet he does not attempt to touch you. his face is also masked, yet his mouth is exposed, revealing sharp canines. you gulp thickly shuffling higher against the bed frame, he swiped his tongue against his bottom lip and you swore you could feel the sensation of it running against your clit.

“she craves pleasure, iii”

iii, you assume the taller of the two come closer to inspect. dark eyes admire the slickness of your cunt, watching the way you clench around nothing. iii also does not attempt to touch you, his fingers once again make small motions in the air, and you feel your cunt instantly spread, taking in the phantom of him. you stifle a moan, trying to force the intrusion out.

“she’s desperate”, iii chuckles, the other mirrors this sentiment, stalking around your husband’s side of the bed.

“why don’t you take the lead, vessel? i’ll make sure this one doesn't disturb us”

“what…mmm...what have you done to him…?” you mention to your husband who remains in peaceful, unaware slumber.

“he sleeps. he is unharmed…” vessel motions, taking in your features, admiring every inch of your figure, each crevice and curve hidden beneath the cotton shift obscured behind the almost arachnid-like mask, six eye-shaped creases replacing the natural two. canines prod out past his lips, through the open mouth of his mask, sharp and intimidating as his tongue flicks over them with ravenous intent.

your eyes flicker back to your husband, asleep still, in a trance they seem to have put him under while they ravage you with their eyes and phantom fingertips. they still made no attempt to touch you at least not physically, you could not help but let out a moan as vessel stood back, arousal evident beneath his cloaks, ghosts of his hands groping your breasts, a taut feeling rising in your chest, feeling him squeeze the mounds of flesh between his fingertips. iii now decides to inspect, pale eyes accompanying his stare, adoring the way your cunt pulses, dripping with wetness.

“little bird, you're dripping” although you could not see, his tongue juts out shifting his mask ever so slightly, as he licks his lips, and you could feel this. the small, dainty circles he traces against your clit, the full force as he flattens his tongue against you, drinking you in. you try your hardest to fight back you truly did, even as iii crawled onto the bed, stalking you like a predator would its prey, he keeps his hands to himself, fingertips barely grazing the cotton of your shift tracing over your perky nipples through the fabric. you stifle a breath, mouth going dry.

“don’t try to fight it. give yourself to us” vessel chimes in, his breath fanning against your neck, warm and desperate.

it was too overwhelming, the sensation, the overstimulation. your body betrays itself, possessed and giving into the phantom movements of their combined tongues and fingers and other various appendages. this could not be real, it's only a dream, a hideous, frightful dream. you’ll wake up in the morning, in your husband’s arms, body as untouched as the moment you went to bed.

an intrusion in your throat made itself known, the air rapidly vanishing from your lungs despite the lack of a physical presence piercing the back of your throat with violent thrusts. you could not protest, choking on what could only be described as an invisible battering ram. the intensity rises in your stomach, heightened by their unrelenting persistence, iii swirled his fingers against the bedsheets mirroring the reaction against your clit, vessel hand stroking himself through his cloaks mimicking the ministrations that riddled your throat.

sweetness drips down your shaking thighs, with a mixture of pleasure, uncertainty and regret. although they had not touched you, your body still felt marred by their presence. as your high comes down, they take a step back, eyes stalking, teeth sharp, primed and ready to strike, yet they cease, simply watching you as you drift into peaceful slumber.

their whispers echo throughout your mind.

“your husband is lost to you. dream of us…only us”

the next morning is met with silence, your eyes sunken and hollow from lack of sleep, your appetite still fleeting despite your stomach’s hunger, this time barely taking small nibbles from the strawberry speared on your fork. as much as you tried to disregard the events of the previous evening, thoughts and memories still prevailed in your mind, the way their hands caressed your body despite the physical contact, how their fingers, tongues, teeth and manhood ravaged you in the best of ways. your thighs clench tightly together under the dining table at the thought.

“you were tossing and turning an awful lot last night” your husband’s voice breaks the silence, shaking you from your thoughts. your breath hitches in your chest, skin goes clammy and cold. surely he did not hear, he was asleep like iii said he was, even when you tried to alert him he remained dead to the world. your stomach sinks with regret, no- you should not feel regret, those monsters took advantage of you in your most vulnerable of hours, despite the lack of touch, it made your skin itch and burn with shame.

“just a bad dream is all, do not worry” you respond taking another hesitant bite of the strawberry.

your husband chewed the inside of his cheek, his eyes not holding the same optimism as the day before, maybe he was just overworked, he did come to bed later than expected last night.

“well all right then” he stands up from the dining table.

“oh, by the way, darling, i have been called back into town, something about closing a deal on a mansion in south london, i must leave before noon”

“what?” you are stumped by the sudden revelation. getting up and following him up the staircase as the servants once again began to clean the table with haste.

“and what of our honeymoon-?”

“darling please do not argue with me on this, it is of the utmost importance that i close this deal so that way we can afford that cottage you wanted remember?”

“am i not important to you then? do you just expect me to stay here in this shithole by myself”

“you watch your tone-!” you are taken aback by his sudden outburst, taking a small step back against the bedroom door. his breath heaving in his chest with frustration. “ no darling, you are important to me-”

“then i’m coming with you”

“no, please. i’ll only be a couple of days” he begins to re pack his suitcase, which had conveniently been placed atop of the bed, its weight sinking into the plush velvet bedspread.

“and what do you expect me to do for the time being huh?”

“i don’t know love, find a way to entertain yourself” he places a chaste kiss on your cheek. speeding out the door without a proper goodbye, you're left alone, seated in the silence of the bedroom, lingering thoughts of those two apparitions, monsters of whatever the hell they were in your mind and most definitely in your loins. and their eyes, cold and unloving stare you down, waiting with bated breath in the shadows, marring your skin with lust.

you kept yourself locked in the bedroom for the rest of the day, servants leaving morsels of food left over from lunch and dinner at the foot of the door, plum scented merlot lingers in the air, and your stomach craves it. your body too heavy to lift the covers, to downtrodden in your own anguish to move, even as the moonlight bled through the curtains and their figures appeared through the window left ajar.

their stares as ravenous as ever, vessel’s especially, canines desperate to gnaw on your flesh, consume you from the inside. their cloaks less formal, iii only adorned in a white dress shirt and a simple pair of linen slacks, vessels attire remains more or less the same, less form fitting you'd say.

“you two…” you begin sitting up, feeling the warmth already pool in your loins despite your mind objecting to it in every sense of the word. vessel and iii remain silent, keeping their gaze fixated on you

“i’ve felt the two of you…crawling like serpents in my body…”

iii cocked his head to the side, white locks seems so contract against the black of night. his eyes crinkled into a cocky smirk.

“it is not us” iii begins, taking a step forward towards the bed. “it is your own nature”

“no-! i love my husband-”

“your body says otherwise, little dove” vessel interrupts, pulling the sheets back, your body grows heavy again, locked in place with invisible shackles no matter how much you tried to break yourself free. iii runs his fingers up your exposed thigh, the sensation of him touching one unlike any other, gentle yet dominating. you wonder if vessel felt the same.

“you are villains- monsters!”

iii’s finger traces even higher, drawing shapes into the skin of your upper thigh, so dangerously close to the axis, to your void of warmth. vessel accompanies him, only his fingers mimic iii’s actions down your chest, just at the lace trimmings where your breasts lay beneath.

your breath hitches in your throat, a moan stifled underneath. iii and vessel’s ears perk up eagerly at the sound.

“we are an appetite, nothing more” vessel reminds, fingertips sneaking underneath your shift, gingerly across the valley of your breasts.

“you are deceivers-mmh-!” you moan despite your words of protest due to iii’s fingers finding your clit, taking solace in how swollen the hidden pearl had become under his touch.

“you deceive yourself” iii muses, drawing harsh shapes into your clit. your fingers tightened around the sheets, trying to ground yourself in reality.

this is all a dream it is not real-!

vessel’s hands grope your breasts, palms pressed firmly against your perky nipples. he leans in, tongue whispering against the shell of your ear as he speaks.

“your passion is bound to us” his words are sinful, an unholy choir, his fingers, the conductors of chaos as they work their way around your body.

“you cannot… mhm….you cannot love” your hips roll to the movements of iii’s fingers, now teasing your entrance with slow, intentional strokes.

their cocks throbbing beneath their cloaks, iii grinds against the mattress, desperate for any form of friction. vessel strains in his shrouds, his size almost pressed against your cheek. your breath heightens, the sensation overwhelming as you try to gather your rationale.

“we cannot…” iii mutters his voice slightly sombre. “yet…we cannot be satiated without you, little bird”

vessel’s fingers linger at the straps of your shift, tugging them down with methodical delay. your breasts are now revealed to the midnight air, iii lets out a growl of hunger, ceasing his movements on your clit as he crawls up the bed, inspecting the stiffened buds further. iii begins to untie the ropes of his slacks shuffling them down, his cock slaps against his stomach, warm to the touch, drooling with pre-cum. vessel bares his fangs, canines grazing your skin.

“you are our affliction…” vessel lulls, his tongue jutting out past his lips to lick the skin of your neck.

before you can protest, he bites down hard. blood instantly pools in his mouth and he drinks you in reverently, determined and hungry with lust. a gasp catches in your throat and iii, ever the opportunist decides to silence you with his cock, forcing the lengthy appendage down your throat. your eyes well with tears, from the brutal force of iii’s cock and vessel’s teeth combined. your body retaliated, trying to push back yet the wetness still pools in your loins, iii’s fingers still wet with your slick as he holds your head still, hips pistoning his cock in and out of your throat.

“god…she feels incredible…” iii mentions to vessel who continues to drain your lifeforce, swallowing drop after drop of crimson so much that iii had to remind him to satiate his appetite.

vessel pulls away, licking up the small droplets of blood, trailing like ruby tears down your neck. your vision faded, they were nothing but blurred shapes clouding your senses. you gasp, ii having pulled out of your throat, to allow you some respite while vessel repositions himself between your thighs, your blood still dripping down his chin.

“she tastes divine” vessel shudders with pleasure, swiping his fingers against your cunt, gathering the wetness from between your folds and sampling you. the taste of your essence mixed with your blood was nothing short of incredible, like ambrosia for him. iii only wishes he could indulge in you if it weren’t for the mask obscuring his mouth.

iii’s jealousy spiked at the action, forcing his cock back down your throat, holding his position, adoring the way you gag around him. despite the lack of air, you did not attempt to stop him, the feeling was foreign but oh so wondrous, the air leaving your lungs, dark spots in your vision began to form only to disperse once he started moving again, only faster this time, taking strands of your hair between inky black fingertips, forcing you to take each inch of him.

vessel is more delicate with his actions, his tongue twirling around your clit, drawing shapes and symbols into the swollen nub, gathering your juices on his tongue. your body feels heated, not sure if for the loss of blood, on the venom his fangs poured into you. either way, you felt elated, weightless, pleasure surging through your veins as you allow them to claim you, painting your body with invisible marks of lust, indentations of where their fingers prodded, tongues licked and palms caressed.

“a goddess she is…” vessels words are muffled between your folds, lapping up each drop your body secreted. he kisses your inner thighs offering you some respite from the assault of his tongue.

“i did not think she would take us so easily” iii comments, holding his cock in the back of your throat, almost on the edge of orgasm.

“she is skilled…that bastard is a lucky man indeed”

the two of them continue overworking your body, to the point where your thighs ached, your throat burns with pleasure and your cunt pulses with need. you moan around iii, oddly happy to receive the effort of his labour, pre-cum already mingling with your tastebuds, and you desire more, craved more of him, and of vessel too.

without warning, vessel inserts two fingers inside you, your cunt welcoming the slender digits, his lips curl around your clit, sucking greedily at the sensitive pearl.

“she is close…” vessel remarks, engaged in conversation with iii as if you weren't even there.

“so am i” iii mutters through clenched teeth, his cock throbbing with an unparalleled need for release.

you gush around vessel's fingers, dripping into the sheets below. his eyes darken, shot blood red as he licks your cunt clean. your throat constricting around iii, his cum pumped into the back of your throat, forcing you to swallow every last drop of him.

“fuck..” iii growls, pulling out of your mouth.

your mind so fucked out that you did not even recognise that they were repositioning themselves. a mixture of shapes and colours clouded your vision, sensing iii was now behind you, he tugs you up by the hair, bringing his face to your neck, to where vessel had bitten you, inhaling the sweet scent of your blood deeply, a shuddering breath leaving his lips.

vessel positions himself underneath you, hands groping your waist, juices your dripping cunt down, lower onto his cock.

“let us ravage you, sweetheart. your body craves it”

you could not produce words, syllables falling flat on your tongue as your throat burns from iii’s assault. instead of allowing you to speak, vessel kisses you, and the clash of your lips causes a cacophony of emotions to swirl through your mind. lust, hate, regret, disgust. iii from behind mimics vessel's actions, driving his cock into your already full cunt, your walls tight enough as is having to spread and make room for the both of them. and the pleasure…it is instantaneous, arousal swirling in your stomach, both of their cocks prodding out through your flesh.

vessel breaks the kiss, his movements substantially slower and softer than iii’s. despite his masked features, he gazes into your eyes, drowning you in a sea of emptiness, a void unknown. a hand delicately comes up and cups your cheek, smoothing gentle circles into the skin with his thumb.

“you shall be one with us for all eternity…mmhm…do you swear it?” his voice was like honey in your ears, a far cry from the ravenous, violent grunts of iii behind you.

your mind draws blank, empty and fucked out with pleasure.

“do you swear it, little dove?” vessel repeats.

“i swear it…” you repeat the phrase like a mantra, perhaps in the hopes to actually have it come to fruition. vessel smiles a toothy, vampiric grin, placing another delicate kiss to your lips.

a far cry from the chaste, almost platonic kiss your husband left you with. and it broke your heart to think so. yet as of now, your mind is preoccupied with pleasures of the flesh, the way these hellish creatures worship your body, and crave your presence even for just a moment. the missing piece to their unyielding lust.

iii fills you, unannounced and your body is unprepared for the visceral reaction. his cum leaking out of you like a faucet, dripping down your inner thighs and coating vessel’s hips.

“oh gods…” iii grumbles, his cock softening within you, still keeping you plugged and full of him.

vessel chuckles softly.

“pay him no mind, he just adores you so”

iii hovers over you, nuzzling his face into your sweat-slicked shoulder blades.

“you ours now, pretty bird”

vessel grew closer to release, his cock throbbing inside you warmth. you lean into him, lean into the feeling of him as warmth spreads throughout your body. their cum mingles with yours, filling your womb with their unholy spawn. as vessel softens inside you, the two of them hold your body close, allowing their combined releases to incubate inside of you.

“our angel…” iii begins, breathless pants ravaging his breath.

“you are to remain in this castle, forevermore. your husband is a stranger to you now. the only men who will be able to satisfy your desires will be vessel and i”

vessel smirks into your neck, kissing the place where he had bitten.

“what do you say little dove, care to be ours forever?”

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

#{ my fics : 🤍 }#sleep token x reader #vessel x reader #iii x reader #sleep token smut #vessel smut #iii smut #sleep token #sleep token x nosferatu #sleep token fanfic #sleep token imagine

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cheerycherrycandy-resurrected · 4 months ago

Text

Can You Hear The Thunder?

Chapter 4: Growth / Earth ghouls

Dew gets closer to Aether as he settles in topside. He meets Terzo who is nothing like he expected the leader of the church would be. Another new ghoul is summoned.

Luckily I wrote most of this before my keyboard broke haha! I've added a bunch more tags on AO3 since last chapter, all things I expect to happen but aren't concrete in the story or my plan yet.

I hope you don't mind 10k of thinly disguised worldbuilding!

P.S. Dew's mug near the start is totally a pfand mug from a Weihnachtsmarkt

Rating: M Content: religion, ghoul summonings Words: 10,838

Link to full fic with associated tags: Tumblr | AO3

Tag list: @cosmicseafoam @ashthewaterghoul @jimothybarnes @zombiequeen777 @rainsbasspick @kentuckyfriedsatan @papaslittlesunshine <33 if I forgot anyone lmk!!

Read below, or on AO3!

Earth ghouls were the eldest species of ghoul, and among the creations He was proudest of. Guardians of His environment and curators of the most spectacular gardens in the Pit, they were the perfect blend of brute and beauty. As was reflected in the boundless variety of nature, the earth ghoul species showed the most variation between them that arose from adaptations to suit their environment. From the cactus-spine skin of ghouls in the desert regions to the lichen-encrusted horns of those in rocky areas, earth ghouls had evolved much as the lands they watched over had.

In the same way that earth ghouls had adapted to their surroundings, so too did their marks adapt to the ghoul they represented. Earth ghoul soul marks were very closely tied to their species’ constantly fluctuating nature and their connection to the world around them, a testament to what secrets the natural world held if one only looked close enough.

Starting at a similar age to the soul mark development in other species of ghouls, earth ghouls would begin to periodically sprout flowers from around their horns in their adolescence. Sometimes they would appear unprompted; small and slow-growing, a passive indication of the native personality of the eternal mate of the ghoul who bore them. Other times they would burst forth like a seedling in springtime, a spray of flowers brought on by a surge in emotions from their other half.

Like with quintessence ghouls, an earth ghoul could use the ancient meanings behind the bouquets on their horns to decipher the emotional state of their mate and how they may react to different situations. Earth ghouls could begin to piece together their soulmate's personality; if they were quick to anger, optimistic in the face of hardship, or a calm peacemaker. Oftentimes, the soul mark flowers would graft themselves permanently to their host and react to the ghoul's own emotions but with a reaction according to that of their mate. Quiet and reserved ghouls could find their horns breaking out into a sprawling mass of vines at something they found only mildly frustrating, yet that would have infuriated their mate.

In another similarity shared across elemental species of ghoul, earth ghouls had elders much like those of the water ghouls who could decipher the meanings of the flowers using their knowledge of the ancient botanical language. Not only were they able to gain some insight into the personalities of their future mate, but also their possible location. In the Pit, as was the case topside, different biomes were home to different families of plants which could provide invaluable hints to where their mate may be raised. Most often though the blooms were familiar, hinting that one's true companion was not far away.

A distinctive yet simple characteristic, earth ghoul soul marks had made the jump to other elements of ghoul with relative ease. Horns were a universal trait amongst all of His ghouls, and as such the growth of flowers around them was a given. However, somewhere in the evolution of other species of ghoul, their ability to sprout flowers from a soul mark had spread to other prominent features within their kind. Most noticeably was in water and air ghouls, whose dorsal fins and feathered spines provided a perfect home for the sprays of vines, flowers and other greenery that had spread beyond the twin protrusions of their horns.

While many crossmated ghouls would long to sever themselves from their soul marks, those with earth marks found it especially challenging. Although it may have been relatively easy to simply rip the handfuls of flowers out as they appeared, it was a thankless task as they would always reappear. Destroying something so universally recognised as beautiful also took its toll on a ghoul’s psyche after a while, often leaving the ghoul with a deeper sense of self-loathing than ever.

~~~~~~~

When Dew woke the next day, it was to a room flooded with light. He squinted against it as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, identifying the source as an uncovered window opposite. He wasn’t used to such blinding light; everything in the Pit had been distorted by the clouds of ash and sulphur, tainting the light with a sickly orange glow. Neither was he used to being awoken by the sun, as his clan had made their homes in the deep basalt caves.

He made to stretch his limbs out, fearful of the pain the sheets grazing against his burns might cause, but was pleasantly stunned to feel nothing but the ordinary caress of well-worn cotton and the plush duvet. Dew threw the covers back, still expecting to see the raw red skin he had gone to bed with. Nothing. His body appeared unchanged from how it had been the morning before in the Pit. Aether’s healing abilities must be more powerful than he had initially thought.

When the shock at his painful burns vanishing had subsided some, Dew became aware of a different, deeper ache in the muscles of his legs. In his haste to reach the portal yesterday, and masked by the adrenaline surging through him, he had failed to notice just how much exertion his full sprint had needed. It was a good ache though; the kind that felt satisfying to push against and Dew let out an involuntary moan as he stretched out fully, like a cat, before rolling himself upright and hauling himself to his feet.

Upon a further investigation of the bathroom, he discovered a plastic wrapped toothbrush and unfamiliar tube of what he assumed to be toothpaste. He gave it a cautious sniff, the icy scent of mint assaulting his nostrils, before he flicked out a forked tongue to tentatively taste it. Dew recoiled at the sensation, throwing it back onto the counter. In the Pit, they had made their own paste for cleaning their fangs and horns from charcoal; maybe other fire ghouls before him had made their own here too? This was still supposed to be a water ghoul's room after all, so he wasn’t surprised that the amenities here would cater more to them.

Feeling no fresher, Dew stared down the pile of crumpled clothes he had abandoned on the back of the desk chair before crawling into bed the night before, as if they could magically clean and fold themselves. Aether had said he could get more today, and he would have to hold him to that. At least the hoodie was free of wrinkles, he thought as he unfolded it and pulled the soft fabric over his head.

As he had suspected he would be, Aether was already in the common room when he emerged, head buried in a paperback novel. He hastily put it down, but not before Dew caught a glimpse of the cover and the muscular, half-naked human man on it. He smirked at the quintessence ghoul and the lavender blush that tinged his cheeks.

“Sleep well?” Aether coughed as he got to his feet, slipping back in his professional welcomer role with ease.

Dew nodded, before forcing himself to acknowledge him verbally; new dimension, new me he had decided, after all.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Well, no one said he had to be the most verbose ghoul this side of the Pit, he supposed. Aether seemed delighted nonetheless and soon busied himself explaining a battered coffee pot that was making gurgling sounds on the counter.

Dew accepted a chipped mug plastered with an unfamiliar cityscape in winter and filled with a dark steaming liquid. He sniffed it while Aether turned away to rummage through another cold-cupboard and, liking what he smelled, he took a sip. The liquid was hot and bitter, warming hum from the inside in a comforting way. By the time Aether faced him again, Dew had already gulped down half the mug.

“You don't take milk or sugar in your coffee then, I take it.” He laughed weakly, topping his own mug off with several heaping spoonfuls of sugar and a glug of milk. Dew knew what both were, and was surprised by the casual attitude with which he produced them. Sugar had been relatively commonplace in his home, but milk had been a rare luxury as it spoiled so quickly in the scorching heat. He couldn't see how it would improve this coffee though; the delightfully tannic aftertaste coating his fangs.

“I thought I could show you around this morning,” Aether suggested as he continued bustling around the small kitchenette, topping up Dew's coffee as he went, “Terzo wants to meet with you first though, to say a proper hello.”

Dew pulled a face at that; he had hoped to settle a little more before meeting the leader of the Abbey, wanting to give off the most well-adjusted and competent impression he could.

“Don't worry, he won't bite,” Aether placed a plate full of toast in front of Dew on the coffee table, “he'll bind a mask to your glamour too, so you can start to work on it and explore the rest of the Abbey properly.”

That sounded interesting, Dew thought as he nibbled on a piece of the crispy bread. He was looking forward to the independence Aether promised they got here, and the ability to work on his human camouflage. A small, niggling part of his brain was also holding onto the hope that the very clearly unearthly marks on his forearms might also be hidden away behind it.

Before long, Aether was leading Dew out of the well-lit corridor of their dorm and into the gloomy stone passages of the Abbey. Intimidating stone arches loomed over every crossing of corridors, and alcoves filled with lurking shadows haunted their every step. Even when they emerged into a cloister bordering a small courtyard, the daylight that filtered in only served to deepen the shadows by throwing them into sharp relief. A lonely fountain tumbled morosely in the centre where, even though Dew had clearly heard birdsong from their Den that morning, not a soul had ventured down to drink from it.

Dew gave up on trying to track the twists and turns Aether led him down after the fifth near-identical hallway. They seemed to be gradually descending, the temperature lowering and the little light that crept in through high windows fading as the corridors were punctuated by single steps down. Just as Dew was beginning to wonder if Aether was taking him a long route back down to the summoning chambers, the corridor opened out into a large antechamber. The ceiling here was higher, seemingly for the sole purpose of fitting a pair of monstrously large oak doors.

Cut into the bottom of the left panel was a significantly smaller door, it’s outline disguised by intricate carvings, although as they approached it became clear it was the size of every other entryway they had passed through so far. The only sign that gave away its frequent use was how the surface had become polished through years of hands pushing against it. Following their lead, Aether led Dew through it and into the chapel beyond.

Here the ceilings rose even higher away from them, smooth columns ascending to accent the vertical space before curving together into the spectacular vaulted construction above their heads. This wasn't what drew Dew's attention however, but rather the patchwork of stained-glass windows lining the walls, casting the whole expanse in a rainbow of light. He stepped forward almost instinctively, drawn by the pull of the illuminated canvases.

Upon closer inspection, they told stories through the pictures immortalised in them. Dew recognised the tale of the creation of ghouls; how He had birthed His servants of the elements to wield their power in the Pit and beyond. Then below that, the binding of ghouls to their eternal mate through their soul marks. The light streaming through the blue glass of the depicted water ghoul fell upon the fabric of Dew's hoodie, in an ironic mimicry of his own mark.

Dew turned his head away, instead focussing his attention to the next window depicting His domains in the Pit. He saw landscapes that were altogether unfamiliar to him; vast forests, oceans, and rocky outcrops in a sea of darkness. The panel that caught his attention though was of his own fiery homeland. The volcano they had made their homes around, that Dew had thrown himself into only yesterday, was in the centre of the image as it was the centre of their world. Every detail about it was faithfully recreated, from the jagged contours of its slopes to the exact shade of russet of the glass. Dew stared at it with a strange pang in his gut: there was a chance this would be the only way he would ever see his birthplace again. The care given to the accuracy of the picture felt almost nostalgic, homesick even. It had to have been created by another fire ghoul; someone who had spent every moment of their life before then in that place, as he had.

“Beautiful, isn't it,” Aether murmured quietly behind him, with no urgency to rush Dew forward from his contemplation present in his voice, “it's like you're back there, just for a moment.”

Dew turned to look at him, the pain in his voice familiar. Reflected in his violet eyes he saw the deep greys and silvers of the landscape with the quintessence symbol atop it. Most of that panel was a deep black, barely letting any light through. It was punctuated by small spots of crystal-clear glass however, tiny dots that let every photon of the outside sunlight beam through, piercing the black nothingness. He wondered what had led Aether to accept the summoning call, what could have caused him the anguish that tinged his countenance.

“Terzo's office is out the back.” Aether quietly explained when Dew looked away to observe the rest of the chapel. They moved silently, reverently, through the solemn space. The architecture was by all accounts the most spectacular aspect of it, but there was something equally inspiring about the rest of the interior. From the perfectly laid out hassocks under the polished oak pews to the meticulous cleanliness of every surface, it was clear that the chapel was a true house of worship in His name, looked after with careful devotion. Even the cool marble beneath Dew's bare feet felt freshly cleaned, lacking the gritty coating of dirt that all other floors clung onto.

They passed behind a dark purple curtain, almost hidden in the shadows itself, that covered another door leading out into a vestry built beneath a choir loft. This room was darker, the ceilings so low Aether almost had to duck his head. The comforting smell of incense hung heavy in the air as Aether knocked on yet another door with a small brass plaque reading Papa Emeritus III. Dew tightened the strings of his hood, making sure his fire ghoul horns were still hidden. Terzo Emeritus might sound like a well-meaning and fair man in Aether's stories, but the others present at his summoning certainly had not and Dew was not about to invite unnecessary questions about his elemental heritage in their proper first meeting.

“I'll be right with you!” They heard a voice call from inside, followed by a lot of shuffling and a concerningly loud thump.

When the man in charge finally opened the door, Dew was struck by how human he looked. At his summoning in their long, hooded cloaks, all four had cut imposing figures, but here he looked so unassuming; a middle-aged human in human clothes, rubbing at his hip with a wince and seeming more than a bit frazzled. His hair, looking like it had been carefully slicked back not that many hours before, was in disarray and his hands bore the clear stains of someone who had been battling with a leaking fountain pen. He was shorter than Dew remembered too.

“Sorry,” he apologised, pushing an errant lock of hair back out of his face and leaving a blue smudge in its place, “Sister gave me a whole load of paperwork last night, all the expenses from last tour.”

Aether winced, sympathetically.

“I can still help you like I used to, you know,” the quintessence ghoul strode confidently into his boss’ office, pulling off his mask as he went, and began picking through the mass of jumbled papers on the too-small desk, “rehearsals haven't even started yet, and Dewdrop's settling in nicely.”

Dew felt both pairs of eyes flick to him in the doorway, the man clearly noticing him stood there for the first time. His eyes were different colours, with one a ghostly white that Dew felt was staring straight into his soul. He squirmed, unsure if he should enter the cramped room too or not.

“Dewdrop!” Papa Emeritus the Third, in all of his infernal majesty, reached out in greeting to clap Dew on the shoulders with both hands. “How fantastic to have you on board! It's been a while since we had a hybrid ghoul here at the Abbey.”

So that was what they thought he was, Dew sighed to himself.

“It's nice to be here, uh... Papa Emerit–”

“Please, call me Terzo,” the man interrupted with a wolfish grin and a wave of his hand, “Papa Emeritus is my father. And my brother. And my other brother!”

Dew forced a polite smile, that he hoped didn't come across as a grimace.

“Aether’s taking good care of you then?” He tossed the question over his shoulder as he strode to a wardrobe built into the wall and pulled out a ceremonial robe. The quintessence ghoul in question appeared behind him, unbidden, and began helping it over his head before smoothing his hair back into place with a practiced air.

“Yes, uh… Terzo.”

“Good, good. We’d be lost without him, wouldn’t we eh?” He winked at Dew conspiratorially, although Dew couldn’t understand quite why. A polite titter seemed to appease the man though.

“Now, I’m sure I know what he’s brought you here for, beyond exchanging pleasantries,” with a flourish, he produced a silver mask from under his robes like a magician might a rabbit from a hat, “your freedom to explore the Abbey. Although why Aether wouldn’t want to keep you locked away a little longer is beyond me!”

Dew didn’t understand what he was getting at with this either, although one glance at Aether’s almost puce cheeks gave him some idea. Unsure if this was some kind of test of his dedication to the values He and by extension His church were spreading, Dew made a split-second decision to go along with whatever game Terzo was playing. He jutted one hip out and plastered a lascivious smirk onto his face.

“Hmm, why did no one tell me that was an option?”

Even the tips of Aether’s ears were blushing now and Terzo guffawed a laugh, clapping both ghouls on the shoulder in turn.

“Well then, I’ll let you two get back to your Den shortly – enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts! I’ll be summoning an earth ghoul tomorrow, another play mate for the two of you, if you know how to share.”

He winked again, and Dew tried to fight against the blood rushing to his face, even as he felt himself failing.

“C'mon,” Terzo bustled past him in a swirl of purple and black, “Let’s get this mask bound to you, then you're free to go and sin however you please!”

He led Dew back out to the body of the chapel leaving Aether to don his own mask again and trail dutifully behind them. Laying the mask on the altar, he glimpsed Dew's expression, still one of confusion and overwhelm, and his smile turned softer.

“Every ghoul has what has become known amongst your kind as a glamour,” he explained, “think of it as a reflection of yourself, an image of what you might look like had you been born in this realm instead of the Pit. The mask ties that parallel form to you, allows you to feel it and wear it as a mask itself.”

Dew nodded hesitantly; he thought he understood, although he still had no idea how to conjure such a disguise.

“Once I have bound the mask to you, a connection to your glamour will open and you'll be able to feel it, like flexing a muscle or so I've been told.”

He looked at Aether, hovering within earshot as he spoke. The quintessence ghoul nodded in agreement.

“It's like opening and closing your eyes. You can choose to do it consciously, but it also happens instinctually. You'll learn to keep it up without even thinking about it.” He confirmed.

“It will take some practice still,” Terzo warned him, “and you'll need to work hard at it. You can rely on the mask around the Abbey for now, but having a reliable glamour is a requirement to leave the grounds.”

Which is part of your job. Dew didn't need to hear the unsaid part to know it was implied. Without a glamour he wouldn't be able to do what he had been summoned for, and then what was the point of him being here.

“The mask will help though,” Aether reassured him, “it lets you see what you have to work towards, at least for everything apart from your face behind it.”

Terzo placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, stilling him, and Dew realised he had been shaking slightly.

“It will be fine, Dewdrop,” his smile was kind, reassuring, “once I've blessed the mask specifically to you, things should make a bit more sense and you can always ask if you have any problems. I know from Aether's early days topside just how big an adjustment it can be.”

Dew turned to look at the larger ghoul, unable to imagine him being anything other than the polished professional he seemed to be now. Aether was looking at the floor, sheepishly grinding a foot into the ground; Dew made a mental note to ask more about that later.

“Now, let's get on with the show!” He clapped his hands together, shook his robes out, and Aether took his signal to melt away into the shadows.

Terzo beckoned Dew forward until they both stood closer together in front of the altar. It had a similar unostentatious beauty as the wooden pews in the body of the chapel, Dew thought. The dark oak was simply polished, the natural knots and grain of the wood the only embellishment. There were no lavishly embroidered vestments covering it, only a single black satin cushion in the centre on which Terzo now laid the silver mask.

Before the altar and under the glow of a thousand coloured windowpanes, Dew received his first topside blessing as part of the church. He felt Terzo's full attention resting on him as the man reached out with his left hand, placing his thumb and two forefingers to Dew's face, one on each cheek and another on his forehead. With his other hand, he mirrored the points of contact on the mask.

His eyes closed, Terzo began to mumble the words of a prayer only he was privy to the contents of. Dew watched his face, from the minute movements of his jaw to the creasing of his paint as his forehead wrinkled in concentration. When they opened again, they stared straight into Dew's own as he now spoke his final words for the ghoul to hear too.

“Dewdrop, as I summoned your physical form from realms below to this mortal plane, so too do I summon an earthly face for your body to wear. I bind it to this mask, with hope that through this connection you too can channel His power as you serve Him through our church’s song.”

Removing his hand from Dew's face, he picked up the mask and passed it to him. Dew expected the metal to feel cold and hard against his skin as he pressed it to his face, tightening the stretchy strap at the back of his head, underneath his braided bun. To his surprise however it felt the same temperature as him, and as soft as worn leather as it moulded perfectly to his face. Through the eye holes he could see Terzo beaming at him.

Dew felt no different as he took stock of his faculties; he could still feel the gentle pressure of his hoodie against his horns, although when he reached a hand up there was nothing to be felt besides the twin points of the mask. The same was true of his tail, which he could still feel twined around his calf but of which there was no sign.

It was as he looked down to confirm with his eyes that he saw them; his hands. The skin was still pale, but lighter, pinker, human. Dew held them up to his face to examine them more closely. He could see the veins running beneath his skin, a blue-green colour as opposed to the golden sunset hue they usually had. It was a familiar colour, one that made him itch to roll up his sleeves and see if his soul mark was still haunting him. Instead he examined the other strange difference that was clear to him, squinting at the translucent growths that had replaced his dark grey claws.

“Welcome, Dewdrop,” Terzo smiled, out of his role as head of the church and back to his casual self again, “it really is great to have you on board.”

He looked over to Aether, still lurking out of earshot to give them privacy during the mask binding, and beckoned him back over.

“Go explore, have fun today! It’ll be good for the both of you.”

Dew hardly needed telling twice; as nice as the chapel and his new boss were he was keen to get acquainted with his new home, and if that so happened to be with Aether by his side he certainly was not about to complain.

“The summoning tomorrow will start at sun’s peak, same as always,” Terzo addressed Aether, who had his own mask of professionalism firmly back in place after Terzo's earlier teasing, “let's hope it goes as smoothly as Dewdrop's did.”

The pair shared a look Dew did not understand before Terzo turned and strode back to his office, robes swishing behind him, and they were summarily dismissed.

The walk back from the chapel felt slightly awkward at first, neither talking as Dew continued to stare at his hands and get used to his peripheral vision being slightly obscured. Before too long though Aether was filling the silence with more talk of glamours. For all Terzo's talk of it being a reflection of his own self, looking into a physical mirror with his mask on to grow used to his human reflection really had been his turning point in grasping his, the quintessence ghoul explained.

Back in the main hallways of the Abbey the air felt a few degrees warmer, and Dew was starting to get the hand of turning his head to see his surroundings rather than just moving his eyes. Since he had free rein now, Aether took it upon himself to give a brief tour of the places that they passed on their way back to the Den.

Closest to the chapel was a library, a warm and dark room filled to overflowing with bookshelves so tall even he would need a ladder to reach the highest tomes. The air smelled comfortingly of old parchment in a slightly dusty yet calming way. It was clear from his expression that Aether was relaxed here, amongst the maze of bookshelves and hidden alcoves, but to Dew they felt like oppressive obstacles.

He was free to borrow any book he wanted, Aether explained, and Dew feigned interest for his sake. There was also a small stash of movies for the TV in the Den – whatever that meant, other than being yet more words that were entirely foreign to him. Dew was starting to realise that none of that really mattered though – everything important like his glamour seemed to be spelled out for him as clearly as possible, and anything else could come with time.

Leaving the library, Aether gestured down a narrower corridor with several doors leading off. Terzo's old office was down there, as were the offices of his brothers and father from Dew's summoning. Behind the far door, he explained in a hushed voice, was the real mastermind of their activities here: Sister Imperator, the once-lover of the original Papa Emeritus, Nihil. She was the one who truly called the shots, despite each of the Papas' assertions to the contrary. Aether spoke with a cautious reverence. Under her guidance, she had steered the church to loftier heights than the original Papa Nihil ever had, but in exchange the Abbey was ruled by her rod of iron.

Before they got back to the dormitories Aether, as promised, took Dew to gather a selection of new clothes from the storage. They entered a small, windowless room to find a similar density of stuff to the books in the library, although less claustrophobically arranged. Every wall was lined with shelves and cupboards, while the centre of the room was occupied by clothes rails containing a huge variety of garments.

“Go wild,” Aether gestured widely to the room, “I'll make a note of what we take before we leave, but you can pretty much help yourself since you're new!”

Dew hardly knew where to start. He settled on riffling through the clothes first, finding they were helpfully sorted by size. Several duplicates of the tight black items he was wearing went straight into the basket Aether held out to him, followed by a few larger shirts with interesting-looking graphics printed on them. A dark red striped hoodie followed, as did a pile of black underwear.

Moving onto the overflowing cabinets around the edge of the room, Dew discovered what he assumed to be toiletries. Everything he picked up got a tentative sniff while Aether helpfully explained what some of the stranger items were. He had no idea what a hair mask was, but the humans on the container were smiling widely and seemed to have hair that looked less like it had survived a trip through a volcano than his own, so into the basket it went. The triumphant sound he had made upon discovering an entire drawer of hairbrushes had made Aether giggle in a way Dew was desperate to hear again.

He found a body wash that smelled like cinnamon, hot and slightly spicy that he had to resist the urge to taste, and even a small stash of toothpaste that didn't smell of that icy mint like before. Instead, it smelled like cloyingly artificial fruit, but a covert lick told him that it was at least better than the burning cold.

The other side of the room seemed to be mostly snacks and pre-packaged food which Dew was significantly less interested in; everything was wrapped in plastic and covered in similar pictograms as the frozen pizzas had been. As much as he had enjoyed that, the choice here was overwhelming so he simply tossed a few items with flames on them into the basket and called it a day. He was sure he would learn what was good in time; with any luck he would have a whole lifetime to do so.

Back in the corridor, the pair almost crashed headfirst into a pair of figures dressed head to toe in black, save for a white veil. Their faces were clearly human, with no lingering unearthly features like Aether or even Terzo with his singular white eye possessed. They even smelled wrong; warm, alive and organic. Dew wrinkled his nose once they were past them, looking to Aether in confusion.

“Humans,” he explained, “it’s not just other ghouls who live here, but some of the most devout humans too. Papa calls them his Siblings of Sin.”

Dew shrugged in understanding, although he was still unsure how they smelled so different to Terzo. He had an almost neutral scent; clearly not a ghoul, but not so offensively human either. Maybe it was his close contact with ghouls, or even with Him below, but either way Dew was just relieved that it wasn’t one more thing he would have to get used to.

He put the thought out of his mind and continued proudly dragging his stash back to the Den. Rather, as his brain unhelpfully pointed out, Aether was the one carrying the unwieldy basket while he just trotted along beside him. The larger ghoul seemed unbothered by it however and Dew, unused to such chivalry being extended to him from his time in the Pit, was happy enough to play along.

He did at least get the door to the Den for Aether, holding it open before he attempted to shoulder his way through without dropping the basket. Dew felt a strange flutter in his gut as he laid his mask on the table beside Aether’s.

“There’s an empty shelf in the pantry you can fill,” Aether explained, pointing at the cupboard in question as he put Dew’s hoard on the coffee table with a thud, “and just dump the clothes you don’t want from your closet on one of the other beds, I’ll deal with them later.”

Grappling the bulky laundry basket, Dew staggered back to his room with it. Resisting the urge to upend its contents straight onto his bed, he instead put it on his empty writing desk. With a quick glance to check Aether was still in the common room, Dew darted back out to the entryway of the Den and snatched up his new mask.

His gathered spoils from the storeroom sat abandoned as he shut and locked his door before ripping off his hoodie and shirt. The anticipation of the sweet relief of finally seeing his arms unmarried by the soul mark that had tormented him for so many years was almost suffocating. He took a deep breath against his pounding heart, then stood in front of his mirror with closed eyes, put his mask on, opened them again and…

They were still there. Granted, they were less garish against his human skin, looking like the blue ink of a tattoo embedded into his skin rather than an alien vine growing upon him, but they were very much still there. A mad dash to the bathroom confirmed that they didn't glow with water in this state, some small relief, but any hope he felt that with this new appearance could come a new relationship with the idea of having a soulmate was dashed like a fragile boat against cliffs in a storm. He would never escape his marks, instead he would be forever running from them.

A therapeutic cry later, and Dew had wriggled into the camouflage of a clean shirt and begun sorting out the wardrobe full of spare clothes, more as a distraction than anything else. He dumped the basket's contents onto the floor, refilling it with everything that wasn't his style or was the totally wrong size and abandoning it in the empty room next to his that had an air symbol on the door. Everything else he hung up or folded away into drawers, neatly lining up his new toiletries as though they could compensate for the mess he felt like inside.

Finally re-emerging into the common room, he again saw Aether reading his book and looking for all the world as though he was just killing time waiting for Dew. He wondered what the ghoul had spent his days doing before his summoning – Aether had seemed intimately familiar with Terzo's office, and especially so with the mess of paperwork on his desk. Dew knew he had been Terzo's personal ghoul before, whatever that meant, but it seemed as though he had been reassigned as his babysitter? Or was it all part of his move to being in the band and replacing the last group of ghouls he had yet to meet? Either way, it didn't seem like he was feeling very fulfilled given the way he leapt up from his position lounging on the couch the second he heard Dew's light footfalls.

“All sorted then?” He asked, looking as though his tail was about to start wagging like a puppy at the prospect of continuing Dew's introduction to the Abbey. Dew nodded, forcing a smile and hoping Aether couldn't see the red rim around his eyes.

“How about some lunch? I thought I could show you the dining hall next.”

Dew's stomach agreed with that idea and, given his experience with topside food the day before, he was also looking forward to trying more. They headed in a different direction when they reached the inner courtyard this time, heading down a well-lit corridor flanked with crystal clear panes of glass and far fewer shadowy nooks that the path to the chapel. As they got closer, the smell of warm bread tickled Dew's nostrils making them flare in anticipation.

Entering through a modern, almost industrial door, Dew found himself in a large, well-lit room that seemed at odds with the foreboding stone of the rest of the Abbey. The walls were a light yellow, a smooth painted plaster, and the atmosphere couldn't have been more different that the sombre atmosphere from earlier. The smell of humans permeated the room, but he was able to put it aside in favour of the other food smells and the more familiar ghoulish scent. There was a hubbub of conversation echoing off the walls, yet it was at a volume that made it feel friendly and welcoming rather than oppressive.

The actions of the figures within the room were less friendly, although by no means hostile; the other ghouls, all in human glamour either with or without a mask to aid them, seemed to be studiously avoiding looking their way. Dew in turn ignored them, and the human siblings as well. Aether seemed unbothered by their reactions and by the mixture of scents in the room and so Dew chose to simply follow his lead.

They collected sandwiches from a countertop with a hatch leading to a kitchen beyond, the source of the more pleasant smells, and Dew helped himself to ones from a pile Aether told him were filled with the same pepperoni he had enjoyed on the frozen pizza the night before. The pair sat alone on a table in the far corner of the room, with no one else making any move to join them which suited Dew just fine. The sandwich was by no means as good as the pizza had been, although he had to admit it was nice regardless. Fresh ingredients had been a rare treat in his fiery home, and he was determined to enjoy every bite of them get got up here.

On their way back to the Den, Dew was beginning to feel more comfortable in the hallways. Sure, they all looked the same and he was certain he would be getting lost for weeks to come, but the similarity between them made each new twist and turn feel somewhat familiar.

“I could show you the lake next, if you like?” Aether had suggested, seeing Dew peering out of a window at the haze of green beyond. He seemed excited at the prospect, Dew thought.

“Alright,” he agreed, trying to feign greater enthusiasm than he felt – if he was going to continue to this charade of being a hybrid ghoul, seeing a lake would be something a water ghoul would be interested in, “sounds good.”

He didn't have to fake any excitement to see the grounds of the Abbey though, hurriedly throwing on his hoodie as soon as they were back in the Den, and meeting Aether back at the french windows of the common room before he had even finished tying his boots. Dew knew the outside world here would be drastically different from all he had known before, it certainly wouldn't be anything like his volcanic prior home; his brief glances out of the windows as they walked had confirmed as much. He had heard stories in the Pit of topside weather cycles called seasons too and wondered how much of that would come to be true.

“Ready then?” Aether asked, standing up. Dew nodded happily, but something stopped Aether in his tracks.

“Shoes?” He gestured at Dew's bare feet.

“Don't need ‘em.” Dew shrugged. He'd spent his life running up and down the volcano's slopes barefoot, the soles of his feet were practically leather now.

“Dew, you have to wear shoes,” Aether sighed, “it's muddy out there and I don't care if you think you need them or not, you are not tracking dirt in here!”

Dew went to argue, to suggest that he could just wipe them clean on the mat he could see right there in front of the doors, when Aether interrupted him.

“Oh Satan, you went to Terzo earlier without shoes didn't you,” he sank onto the arm of the sofa and groaned, “what a great start, you're lucky Sister didn't catch us, or she'd have my head!”

“Is it that big of a deal?” Dew really didn't think so and couldn't see why Aether was making such a fuss. “Terzo didn't notice.”

The quintessence ghoul huffed, head in his hands.

“I'm meant to be in charge of helping you assimilate up here, and I can't even remember to check you're fully prepared for a meeting with the head of the church!” He ran a hand through his short hair in panicked exasperation. “She didn't want me to be promoted to a band ghoul anyway. I can't fail so soon; I'm not going back to the Pit!”

Dew recognised the spiralling – something he was uncomfortably familiar with – and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Okay, shoes. I'll wear shoes,” He reached out a cautious hand to pat Aether on the shoulder in a way he hoped wasn't condescending to the larger ghoul, “no more barefoot chats with the Boss, got it.”

That got a weak smile, which Dew considered a success.

“Uh,” there was one slight issue remaining that would prevent Dew following through on that promise, “where are shoes, exactly?”

Once Dew had been informed that shoes were in fact in the bottom part of his wardrobe behind a door he hadn't bothered to open yet, he finally had something more substantial on his feet. He'd hastily picked through the small selection, finding a pair of slip-on sneakers with soft foam soles that were about the right size. They still felt like they were compressing his feet, even in places where they were barely touching him, but they were strangely lightweight and infinitely more comfortable than any leather plimsoll he had reluctantly stuffed his feet into before. From a purely aesthetic point of view, he would have liked boots like Aether was wearing but there hadn't seemed to be any in the closet; Dew supposed they would have taken up too much space in the bare bones selection his room started with.

He shuffled back into the common room, getting used to the feeling of the elevated soles of the sneakers, and saw Aether's face relax with relief at his new charge doing as asked.

“Much better!” He got back to his feet and put his mask on – Dew noted that he seemed keen to wear it rather than relying on his own glamour – and gestured for Dew to do the same. Together, they exited via the french windows into the small, paved garden the common room overlooked. Dew had seen it out of the window but not thought much of it; it was enclosed by stone walls much like the rest of the Abbey and its only purpose seemed to be to house a rusty table with a few chairs and an ashtray.

What he hadn't seen before was the side gate that Aether now led them through, passing from the enclosed courtyard to the grounds beyond. Here, the fact that the Abbey was located at the top of a hill became clear, as a carpet of green grass swept down and away from them. Dew couldn't hold back the gasp he let out at the sight; it truly was like nothing he had ever seen before. The colours were so different to the reds and browns of his home in the Pit, the vibrancy of the grass was such that it felt like his eyes were seeing completely new colours. It was a slightly foggy day, the low clouds obscuring the world at the base of the hill and filling the air with a cool moisture. If anything, that only served to make the grass appear greener.

“Just wait until it’s spring,” Aether smiled at his awe-filled expression, “it’s enough to make you jealous of the earth ghouls who get to see this all the time in the Pit!”

He began plodding down the hill into the fog, and as Dew followed behind him the reason for Aether’s insistence on shoes became clear. The path they followed was well defined but unpaved, and with every step Dew found his shoes picking up soupy mud that stuck to them like glue.

The mist thickened as the incline began to flatten out and they neared the foot of the hill. Emerging from the haze, Dew spotted a figure heading towards them and looked to Aether as they came into view, unsure if he had been expecting them. He saw the quintessence ghoul’s expression morph from squinting into the fog, to recognition, to sheepish awkwardness. As they came into focus, Dew realised the mystery person was a water ghoul – or a water ghoulette to be precise. She was short, shorter even than Dew and had a shock of cropped white hair lying wet against her scalp. Dew guessed she must have come from the lake, given the large terry cloth robe wrapped around her.

“Hello, Mist.” Aether said stiltedly as she was about to pass them, clearly out of politeness rather than a desire to make small talk. The water ghoul slowed to a halt as though she too had hoped to avoid the interaction.

“Aether.”

The silence that followed was so tense Dew could have split it open with a claw.

“How are you doing? And the others?”

Mist sighed.

“We’re doing about as well as you’d expect, Aeth. No one wanted things to end up like this, I’m sure you can understand.”

Aether nodded, looking at his feet, while Dew tried to make sense of the whole situation.

“And Meg? Is he–”

“Omega needs time, Aether. He doesn’t want to talk to you right now, not after everything that went down,” her expression softened slightly and she laid a blue-tinged hand on his arm, “I’ll let you know as soon as anything changes, alright? I know none of this was your fault, but he’s hurting.”

“’Kay.” Aether muttered. He looked small, Dew thought, as though something in the short water ghoulette’s words had cut him down to size. He clearly wanted to move on, and Dew would have been more than happy to do so too, but at that moment Mist’s eyes fell on him.

“Who’s this?” She asked, tone more friendly than before.

“This is Dewdrop,” Aether hesitated before continuing, “he’s the new bass player Terzo summoned yesterday.”

Mist’s face visibly fell for a second before she recovered herself, smiling widely at Dew with shark-like pointed teeth.

“Welcome, Dewdrop. I’m glad Aether’s taking good care of my replacement.”

Her words were tinged with ice but lacked any malice. Dew nodded at her in greeting, his tongue feeling frozen in the arctic atmosphere both ghouls had created.

“Right, we’d better get going, I’m just showing him the lake.”

The tension getting the better of him, Aether finally disengaged them from the conversation. Everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as they separated, Mist plodding back up to the Abbey and Aether steering Dew further down the path.

“Replacement?” Dew eventually asked, once they were well out of earshot. Aether sighed before replying.

“She’s one of the ghouls who was in the band until recently,” he winced at some unspoken memory, “none of them are very happy at being demoted. Or at my promotion. Normally ghouls are summoned for certain roles here and only replaced if they choose to leave.”

“Why? What changed?”

“I don’t know, Papa didn’t say.”

Dew knew better than to push – for now, at least.

At that moment the path ahead of them opened out, the well-worn track leading up to a wood-panelled deck. The ground around it was dark, the fog clinging tightly to it. As they approached, Dew realised it was water. The blackness of the lake stretching out before him into the grey void filled him with a bone-deep terror, and Dew couldn’t suppress his shudder at the wave of fear rushing over him.

Even with his eyes squeezed tight against the encroaching darkness of the body of water, Dew could feel Aether’s concerned eyes on him. He was quintessence; of course he could tell how uncomfortable he was. Aether was polite enough not to say anything though, either about Dew’s clear fear of the water or of what that meant for his supposed hybrid elemental status.

“Want to go see the greenhouses next?” He asked instead, gesturing back up the Hill once Dew opened his eyes.

“They’re pretty interesting, even to non-earth ghouls,” Aether started up his nervous chattering again as they walked, “some of the plants they’ve got to grow in this climate are crazy!”

Dew was grateful for the distraction and more than happy to turn away and follow him back up the hill. Even the few seconds at the lake had been more than enough for a lifetime, unlocking a new fear he hadn't even known he had.

Aether led him round to the south of the Abbey where a cluster of glass buildings stood.

“They each mimic a different climate,” he explained, “I’m sure we’ll be back here again when I show the new earth ghoul around, but I thought you might want to see inside the one the fire ghouls say is closest to their lands in the Pit?”

Dew was curious to see how much familiarity with his home they could conjure, although the reminder of tomorrow’s summoning and the excitement evident in Aether's voice stung. He didn't like how enthusiastic he sounded about this new ghoul; like Dew wasn't interesting enough for him and he was just waiting for his next new toy. Was he really that unimportant to Aether that he could be set aside when someone new came along?

As if hearing his misgivings, Aether didn't move on from the subject of the new earth ghoul as he held the door of the greenhouse open for Dew.

“It's a crazy schedule the Clergy have Terzo doing these summonings on. Most summonings are super spread out so the new ghouls have time to settle, so I'd have weeks to get you used to everything up here.”

The rush of artificially warm and dry air hit Dew as he entered the greenhouse, a stark contrast to the cold and moist air of the outside.

“There's one summoning every other day this week,” Aether continued, “they want to gather all the ghouls for the band to start rehearsing for the next tour as soon as possible, but it's going to be a struggle having so many new ghouls at once. I'm not sure how they expect me to help all four of you as much as you need.”

Dew felt a little better knowing Aether was also surprised by the frequency of the summonings, although his own reaction to the news that he would not be the new guy for long still irritated him. He couldn't let his insecurities and jealousy over a ghoul he had just met ruin his chance up here, even if his mind seemed to be trying to derail him already. Thinking of the positives of meeting all his new pack at once – not having to re-assert his boundaries for longer than necessary for starters – he focussed on trying to put Aether at ease.

“It'll be nice to settle alongside everybody,” he suggested, “then we can learn from you together.” Dew still wasn't looking forward to meeting the new fire ghoul they would inevitably summon though.

His words seemed to help and Aether beamed down at him. He led Dew deeper into the maze of the greenhouse, guiding him with a wide hand resting on his hip that lingered longer than was strictly necessary. Dew leaned into the touch; maybe he didn't have to worry about holding Aether's attention after all.

The raised beds around them were filled with a sandy soil not dissimilar to that in the Pit, although it was lighter in colour. In them grew a mixture of plants both faintly familiar and totally alien to him; tall, spiny plants well-suited to the dry and arid ground. Cacti, Aether called them. Dew wondered how they had come to be here in the Abbey: were they all native to this topside realm, from a different environment to this? Or had some managed to find their way up and out of the Pit?

Picking along a small path, Dew quickly realised that Aether's insistence on footwear was again proving to have been a sound decision; among the unfamiliar plants was a creeping vine with inch-long spikes which seemed to have decided that the walkways of the greenhouse were its optimal environment.

“It'll be nice to have a pack again,” Aether mused quietly as they walked, “one of my own this time. A real one.”

His words held a vulnerability that deeply resonated with Dew. He wasn't excited to replace him with a newer, more interesting ghoul Dew realised; he was simply longing for a pack. Dew didn't know Aether's situation before he was summoned yesterday, but he sensed he had been lonely for a while. He could relate to that, more than anything.

“It will,” he agreed, meeting Aether's eyes when he looked back at him, “I'm looking forward to it.”

The next morning, Dew was woken by Aether knocking on his door. They had both had a relatively early night after eating in the dining hall, but Dew had slept soundly through for almost twelve hours regardless. As he grew more comfortable at the Abbey, he was beginning to feel the exhaustive effects both of his summoning and of his difficult life before.

“Dew!” Aether's muffled voice filtered through the door as Dew burrowed deeper into the soft duvet. “Wake up! The earth ghoul summoning is in an hour!”

Dew groaned loud enough for Aether to hear he was awake and stop trying to make the whole Abbey shake with the force of his knocking. He wormed his way out of bed, missing its warmth the second the colder air of his room hit his skin. The light streaming through his window, that he had once again forgotten to close the curtains of, confirmed what Aether had said; it really was almost noon already. He shuffled into his bathroom and turned the water on to heat up.

This morning Aether had his coffee waiting for him when he shuffled out, hair wet but brushed.

“I cleaned your shoes,” he announced, gesturing to the sneakers now mostly free of the mud that had been caked onto them when they returned the previous afternoon, “we're supposed to look our best for summonings, since the senior Clergy are there.”

Dew pulled a face at having to wear them again.

“It's only for an hour or so!” Aether laughed, tossing a pre-wrapped pastry at Dew who barely avoided slopping his coffee as he caught it one-handed.

“Good catch!”

I know you are but what am I? Dew’s brain unhelpfully supplied.

“You’re in a good mood this morning.” He observed instead, continuing to tamp down the lingering jealousy.

Aether shrugged with a loose smile.

“Summoning days are pretty fun,” he chuckled at Dew’s sceptical expression, “or at least they are when you’re not the one being summoned. It’s nice meeting new ghouls, showing them around. Makes you feel like you’ve learned something up here too, y’know?”

Dew wasn’t sure how much of an advantage he would have given he hadn’t even been topside for two full days at this point, but he understood where Aether was coming from.

“And hey, Terzo's last summoning turned out pretty well.”

Aether placed his empty mug on the counter and tossed a wink over his shoulder, before exiting the common room to finish getting ready. Dew was grateful that only the eyes of the strange creature on this morning's coffee cup were there to witness the blush that crept up his cheeks.

A short while later, both ghouls were ready to leave for the summoning chambers deep within the bowels of the Abbey. Aether had produced two heavy, woollen cloaks from the hall closet, which Dew realised now the quintessence ghoul had also been wearing two days previously when he was summoned. They were rough and scratchy, a world away from the soft covering that had been laid over Dew’s shoulders. He supposed that would be used for the new earth ghoul today. Even though his burns were healed now, he could still feel this cloak irritating the skin where they had been. Combined with the sneakers pressing on his feet Dew was left feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

As a final check before they left, Aether poked his head inside the room with an earth symbol carved into the door. Dew imagined him doing the same to the fire ghoul’s room before his own summoning, a room that he had never ended up using but one that Aether had taken care to make sure was fully ready for him nonetheless. With all seeming to be in order, Aether donned his mask and motioned for Dew to do the same.

The walk down into the depths of the Abbey was quiet; Dew lost in thought imagining what a summoning looked like from this side of the portal and Aether not feeling a need to fill the silence this time. The air grew chilly as they descended a narrow stone staircase that Dew had only a vague memory of, before they passed under a carved archway and reached a heavy iron door. Aether paused with one hand raised to push the door open and turned to face Dew.

“Whatever you do, don't approach the portal.”

The room beyond was dark, darker than Dew remembered. The ceiling was low and arched towards the centre, leaving the space nearest the walls barely high enough even for him. Terzo was already there, nodding his head at them in greeting as he shuffled through the pages of a heavy tome resting on a lectern lit only by a small candle. Aether led Dew over to a corner, far from their leader and shrouded almost entirely in shadow. They watched as Terzo paced around the patch of floor where Dew had found himself after the flames subsided, muttering incantations as he went.

The door creaked open again and Dew felt Aether stiffen beside him. Leading the three retired leaders of the church into the room was an older woman, her once-blonde hair pinned up in a severe bob and her heels clacking loudly against the stone floor. Everything about her, from her upright posture and the way her eyes bored into Terzo to how the other Papas followed her obediently all screamed that she was to be respected, maybe even feared. It was at once abundantly clear to Dew that this was Sister Imperator, and he fully understood what Aether had meant when he said she was really the one in charge. As Aether had, Terzo also appeared to become instantly uncomfortable upon seeing her and Dew made a mental note to ask Aether about it later.

Finishing his round of incantations, Terzo returned to his lectern.

“Greetings, Sister.”

“Good morning, Papa,” her tone was saccharine-sweet, yet her words had an unmissable edge to them, “another summoning, and so soon! I'm glad you're getting on with things at last. Let's hope you don't mess this one up too, hmm?”

Dew bristled at that remark, and he felt Aether doing the same beside him. That was yet another thing to ask about later, he supposed. Despite its unpleasant roughness, Dew was glad of his cloak in that moment. It covered him and all of his traitorous elemental markings well, letting him blend into the shadows unnoticed.

Terzo made no comment, but it was clear he was as irked by the comment as his ghouls were. Examining a pocket watch, he cleared his throat to indicate he was ready to begin: demanding silence from those assembled. As was the case when he blessed Dew's mask to him, the first parts of his prayers were silent. His lips moving wordlessly, the air around them grew colder than ever and Dew tried not to shiver.

Slowly Terzo's prayers became audible, although they were in the ancient language Dew had only ever heard in the deepest parts of his realm in the Pit. Resonating with the weight of his words, the ground beneath their feet began to tremble and a low rumbling noise started to reverberate around the small room, echoing off the stone walls and intensifying into a suffocating din. Dew dared to raise his eyes from where they were fixed on the centre of the summoning circle and saw several of the retired Papas rubbing their hands together in glee: this was clearly a spectacle they were looking forward to seeing.

The rumbling increased as Terzo's voice continued to become progressively louder, until he was almost shouting to be heard over the roar in the chamber. With a final crack and a violent quake that nearly knocked Dew off his feet, a hole ripped open in the stone floor, right in the centre of the summoning circle. Dust swirled out of it, barely lit by the low candlelight, and slowly began to take shape. The form in the circle grew larger, its limbs elongating like sprouts in the springtime.

Eventually it became recognisable as a ghoul. A tail curled around their thigh and horns sprouted from their head. They were nothing like Dew had seen before; long and branching, dusted with moss and adding almost a foot to the height of the figure. It was clear the ghoul was tall as they slowly unfolded their long, muscular limbs and tried to stagger to their feet like a foal learning to walk. They cut an impressive figure and Dew couldn't help but stare, his mouth watering slightly.

His gaze was broken however by Sister Imperator, giving her nod of approval and sweeping out of the chamber before Terzo had even given Aether the go-ahead to pass the new ghoul a blanket. Her heels clacking on the floor, it was an implicit acknowledgement that Terzo had succeeded in her eyes this time, but that simply meeting her expectations was not deserving of any undue praise.

In his fully professional mode once again, Aether quietly stepped forward at Terzo’s signal with the summoning cloak. That didn't stop him from exchanging a glance, visible in the twinkling of his eyes through his mask, with Dew as the large earth ghoul gratefully tightened the fabric around them, its hem barely hitting in the middle of their toned thighs. Dew smirked back from beneath his own mask and hood; the Pit really had spat out a fine specimen of a ghoul. He didn't even have it in him to feel jealous, not when Aether had chosen to break his perfectly robotic image to share a hungry glance with him.

Dew hastily followed after the pair as they left the chamber, ahead of Terzo and the other ex-leaders of the church. It felt instantly warmer as soon as they were outside of the dark room, his eyes quickly adjusting to the light as they ascended the stairs. Following behind, he noted how much taller the new ghoul was, even compared to Aether. Much like he had seen of the quintessence ghoul so far, they had no visible soul mark, although Dew didn't think he had any clue what an earth soul mark would manifest as, nor a quintessence one for that matter.

Back in the well-lit corridors Dew was able to finally catch up and walk beside Aether, just as he asked the new summon his name.

"Mountain."

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