#what if we were both monsters and sought solace in the familiarity of monstrosity

[darkblessed]

what if - hear me out - what if enebish's lady's offer of peace works as a sort of dam, holding off some of his memory so it doesn't flood him immediately when they get to martira bay. but his memory is tied to his abilities. and as they're being pursued by vampires he's had to reach for more of it, until eventually to save enebish he'll have to ask her for that last piece of memory and fully return to being a devil to fight off the vampire horde ...

oh, children. you walk into a den of beasts.

it's a lingering thought in the back of enebish's mind, the way many of his lady's words tend to, and it means he's counting the prayer beads around his wrist as the cart they've hailed carries them into martira bay. truly, it's a beautiful place, with water shining into the far distance under white cliffs hanging over the edge of the bay.

the prayers don't help when vespin is woken by the sound of struggle, of blood spilled and enebish dragged away in the night. it's a whisper that lingers at the edges of vespin's mind, no matter how tightly he clutches the ring of mind shielding.

( the ring doesn't help here. the darklord's hold on memory is tenuous here, like water through fingers, and those taken are returning soon. )

it comes first as a trickling of heat, the urge to call fire to his fingertips instead of reaching for the flask at his hip. the vampire that snarls at vespin cowers at the sight of flames that flicker green and black like something vile.

it is through her caged fingers that things come back in droplets rather than the rush of a tide.

( the smell of a wizard's scriptorium, with ink and paper and magic. it's a spell circle flaring brighter than the sun and the feel of celestial gold corroding under his palm. it's fire, brimstone, and a flash of a smile with sharp, sharp teeth. )

she whispers apologies. she cares for all things, but in the end, she cares most for her children. enebish, sweet-hearted as he is, does not show people often that she is an aspect of vengeance as well.

you, who hate our kin. i ask you be my blade, just this once. i will make the returning as gentle as i can in return.

the stronghold is a place underground, flourishing in the literal underbelly of martira bay. here, people who parade the crest of the dark lord's secret police wander. here, many of them are turned to creatures of the night.

enebish lies motionless when vespin comes upon him on this rampage of a rescue. the reason is clear -- a thorny vine blooming with broad, blood-red flowers is wound up his arm and looped almost possessively around his throat, twisted tight enough the thorns dig in.

whatever monster awaits him when he opens his eyes, he reaches with a bloodied, shaking hand, laying it along vespin's forearm quietly as he struggles to clutch onto consciousness.

" thank. . .you. "