Author Topic: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 32- Hail Rain or Sunshine  (Read 15363 times)

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 25- Inaudible Melodies
« Reply #75 on: April 26, 2014, 11:37:10 PM »
Woah! So now Palmira and Azrael are married?!
This story is getting so intense! WHAT in the world happens upon the birth of the next child - because if Palmira falls ill or dies we may have to warn people that Palmira does NOT make a good spouse as this is double proof that she's too frail to bring on the next generation.  ::)
Heh, I kid.

Meh, the the other Palmira I know is one capable mother and spouse. Haha. And they aren't married, yet.  :-X You'll see a ceremony soon, though. I hope I don't change my mind when I see my other screenshots. Oftentimes, the story doesn't come out the way I had initially wanted it. Sims have their own way of ruining and making the story.

I'm really excited, I just want to keep reading! :)

Keep at it! I'll be gone for another week (from) last week's immersion. I'm just home for the weekend.

I love your screenshots ... they are so dramatic! Now I'm extremely curious to see what happens with the next Hawke.

Thank you, dearly! You'll hate or love me with what actually happens after the next Hawke is born.  ;D



Expect a relatively light encounter when worlds meet. This story has only been depressing for so long.
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline honeylamb

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 25- Inaudible Melodies
« Reply #76 on: May 12, 2014, 08:42:26 AM »
I just found this story, you're an amazing storyteller :) I can't wait to see what happens next.



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Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 25- Inaudible Melodies
« Reply #77 on: May 17, 2014, 07:05:08 AM »
I just found this story, you're an amazing storyteller :) I can't wait to see what happens next.

Welcome to the covenant, honey(lamb).  :P

And to everyone, I'm sorry! I've become unexpectedly busy (I still am), and I don't think I'll be able to update soon. I'm working on it, though, with the writing I mean, I just haven't had the time to go simming, yet.

At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline LivvieLove

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 25- Inaudible Melodies
« Reply #78 on: May 17, 2014, 03:16:10 PM »
No worries, real life always comes first. We'll be here when you're ready to update! :)

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 26- Somebody that I Used to KNow
« Reply #79 on: June 03, 2014, 07:13:17 AM »
No worries, real life always comes first. We'll be here when you're ready to update! :)

Is now a good day? *Wink wink, double wink




You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness
Like resignation to the end, always the end


Somebody that I Used to Know
Gotye's a point



Snow will fall.

Snow will come.

Soon.




So far, so good, Garrett mumbled to himself as he walked past the poppies and the rose blooms that intoxicated the air with their faint fragrance. He cursed and thanked his adept smell, he cursed and loved that he'll be remembering Celestia for the littlest things. So far, he's managed to accept the customs and whims of the locals. The people in Sunlit Tides live to his distaste: carefree, never-somber, or outwardly so, and almost indolent. Indolence, he breathed, A judgment subject to debate. Sunlit Tides spelled gaiety all over; the people, the architecture, the landscape, the people, the people. His old look would have never fit in. Save the hair, since it especially suits me, aired the gentleman in his conceit.



Indolence, he thought and pondered on, lost in his thoughts, and to be left undisturbed. He marveled at how and why the locals would bask in the heat, out of their homes, and on with their lives. So they're not indolent. And when you think about it, they don't have a choice. Life gets to you, and you work to eat. Laughable, but not funny. And when they do, they resolve not to go out their work places, except the ones bound outside, and those who are already, left to suffer the scorching heat, greet even the strangest strangers like Garrett, among their sun-kissed streets emanating with radiant heat. Indolence can never be used to describe a town, Shouldn't, the indolent thrive among the hardworking, in pretense, feigning hard work, by what means, only they, know, And will ever master such maneuvers. Indolence isn't a trade you can teach. Heh, Garrett clicked his tongue, It may be so. He smirked, content, then frowned in frustration, past the picturesque background that makes Sunlit Tides.



He pulled out a lock of Aveline's ashen hair, he traced what's left of the silky snow-white crown that it used to be, the last he remembered her- retrieved from where found it stashed safely, in the burned house. Why Aveline cut her hair and stashed it, before her escape to Paradiso, and kept it even, was a puzzle to him. Celestia said something about their snow-frosted hair, and power. Symbolism and politics altogether, inseparable, haunting the Hawke bloodline- the Mayfair bloodline.
But what really, is this hair for, if not just a celebrated and astonishing anomaly to the normal? He cut his hair, yet nothing seems to have happened. Aveline cut hers and she died, but years later, and to her will.

He frowned, remembering the little shipwreck he discovered awhile back, and because it was desolate, he wondered if anyone had seen it. He wanted to know- it was such a beautiful wreck, it needed someone less burdened to appreciate it.



Things were making less sense the more he knows and discovers, because whatever came up to him, it was without explanation.
Always, except the mystery of their burned and already in ruins-house. Their home, wretched and beautiful, standing ragged and untouched through the years. It was Celestia who shed him light, and spared him a little from the confusion. A little, He asked and asked to the point of nagging, but Celestia only looked at him lovingly, never faltering.

It was Celestia who unraveled the history of the Hawkes', how a Mayfair Witch, and the only Mayfair Witch became part of all these, and how an organization is after her- its very own namesake. How the organization managed to, and learned whatever they did to point them to Hysteria, Celestia didn't explain. He hadn't asked, he didn't think it was important. A missing keystone. My dear Celestia, dead. My immortal Celestia, happy. The world hadn't stopped as he walked buried in the past, past the balusters, the totems, and the dancing sand along the shores- sounds and scenes he neither saw nor heard in his wanderings- but from some passer-by's mouth, and his memory. After all, he's lived watching through a looking glass, living other people's lives. Vicarious, such a shrill word. He walked on, and let the breeze touch his newly cut hair, Refreshing, the second, third, fifth, and the countless-th time he cut his hair. But the first time was a terror. Looking in the mirror had been dreadful, Ah, the sentiment of a Hawke with his hair, the gentleman commented. Waking up to see his hair grow back was a relief to him, and slightly, a horror, but mostly only to those ignorant of their family and everything occult.

Lycantrophy, apparently, messed up a Hawke's physiology,  As if this body isn't already a wirework of twisted mysteries and potential. He chuckled, calling the attention of foreign and local loiterers at the bistro's veranda. He didn't care, although, his life-long isolation should have dictated otherwise.



The gentleman liked going out sometimes, to breathe the zephyr Sunlit Tides spilled and diffused throughout this new paradise. Again, he mused. Usually, if not almost always, he'd just stay behind, inside, cloaked within Garrett and feed him hateful thoughts, which Garrett effortlessly dismisses. He doesn't mind, he shrugged, he enjoys solitude and attention equally, and this is one of those days when he prefers the oogling stares of allured women in silence, to the other silence he's grown accustomed to.



The conceited gentleman, it happens, got the better of him, he who found an uncomfortable and ugly chair to settle in, and start a series of remorse, rather, a feast on the innate stupidity of man. His nose cringed at the sight of a woman wearing ridiculously-short-of-cloth-clothing. What he should know is that this and that are equally expensive. The gentleman mused- he'll return Garrett's body in a little while, or longer, depending on whether he has something interesting going on or not.



The woman in little cloth walked slowly towards him, he hadn't realized that he's been staring, longer than his usual examinations take. He licked his lips, chapped, and swallowed, being thirsty and excessively sensitized to the heat,
Well, there's always 'usually,' He lit a cigar, a habit Garrett detested greatly, and one which he openly protested against.



This is ridiculous. She's wearing that in this weather, and in this kind of town. Ayo, look at her, Garrett. But Garrett kept his silence.



The woman inched closer, with her blonde hair falling to one side, soft, beautiful, and fake. Her eyes were hardened by whatever intention.



The woman made a smile.



She gleamed, suppressed,
Hello to you, Hers was a sweet voice. Interested?
Hello, pumpkin. You're mistaken. He smiled.
Don't think I can change your mind? She gestured to sit on the chair facing him.
Darling, whatever your intention, and for whatever proposition, you can pull it back up with your tongue and swallow it- with all due respect, of course. It wasn't something a gentleman would say.
She was surprised, it was something she didn't expect him to say, Really, Garrett Hawke? She paused, she had more to say. Rather, Gale Henry? Quite an alias if you ask me. How do you manage to, say, flush Garrett away- when he's so strong? The woman asked, curious, with genuine urgency.



Gale sat frozen. So, my little escapade got some big fish's attention. Interesting. He thought and reclined uncomfortably. Power play, he snarled, pleasantly, to the woman. He looked up to her and beamed with sarcasm, For you to go through such a laborious task of tracking me down and confronting me, Miss Easter- Julianne Easter, yes? You who fancy to be some Julienne Mayfair. Charming name, if I must say. She just looked at him, Oh, please, please, sit! He waved his hand.



The woman bit the inside of her lower lip, trying to hide her surprise and contempt at such an outrageous, yet curious remark. This Gale Henry proves to be more than just a sweet-talking devil with a charming cynicism. Oh, but the cynical make the world go round, pumpkin. He yawned, despite his stubborn alertness, but he was hungry- Garrett never got hungry. His worldly needs ended up getting dumped on him, too. Thank the skies! He uttered, and left the woman puzzled. Potato truffle? She didn't respond. Spaghetti, perhaps? Still, nothing. Your lack of response, and refusal, disappoint me. I thought you came here with interesting, and possibly unbelievable ideas! His idea of fun composed of people retaliating and getting rebuked. She started to bore him, but should it have been Garrett instead of him at this moment, things would turn out disastrous- he was prone to these attacks, especially with the recent losses and yearnings. That's why he came out- that's how and why Gale Henry was born. So, what was it that you thought would interest me?



She put personal feelings out of the whole affair, when she decided to accept the task. You thought you did. She glanced at the man in Garrett's body, who shot a glass after his comment. Where's the fun in this, oh little Juliet? He mocked her, Oh, Juliet. You liked that insidious nickname, didn't you? Don't you?
I didn't come to you to be antagonized. Gale made things complicated in different levels.
To me- did you really? Gale retorted. I'm pretty sure you came for him, not expecting me.
But she wasn't finished, I'm glad we have that clear. I didn't come to meet you. I'm here to talk to Garrett, the real Garrett, and not some defect that sprang out of him. She was going beyond what was asked of her, and in a diminishing way.



Gale placed two fingers on his lips, couldn't help himself from making a smirk, Oh, I get it. He paused to see if she would react, but when she didn't, he continued. You don't like me hanging around. He wanted to attack her explicitly and bluntly, but that would be going against Garrett's character, and a bit of his. Are you sure you don't want to eat, darling?



Why don't you ask, if he likes having you around? She rebuffed him. Those split-second blackouts, whenever you want them. Convenient and cruel, don't you agree?

What's a Mayfair witch, an old one at that, doing, running amok and provoking poor creatures? He clicked his tongue, repeatedly and annoyingly, If I hadn't known better, I'd say you're the one who's interested. He scoffed, No, my mistake. You are interested. He leered, leaning towards her.  You're what this hysterical lot of lassies call in love- harpies they can be when they squeal at and over every pathetic thing. Dear Watcher, my head aches just thinking about it! And- oh- I mean it in good taste should you think otherwise.



Julianne looked at this foul-mouthed man posing to be Garrett, and conveniently treading the world in his shoes.  Nothing that comes out of your mouth is in good taste. She said bitterly.

Oh, you're a minimum-two-scoop-ice-cream-who-doesn't-share kind-of-girl! Feisty!

I don't need the sass, Henry. Garrett could hear the contempt, and felt her remaining benevolence vanquish, like a metaphor one deems appropriate. She was being rudely dismissed and mocked, but she understood every reason for it- Gale Henry protecting his master, some feat, apparently, Celestia "forgot" to tell him. She understood, but it didn't change that an actual encounter with the man felt the way it did. Gale and Garrett heard her slightly grit her teeth.

Maybe she has something to say, allow her, Garrett suggested. Ridiculous! This woman is trouble, the way that greedy organization is. You, of all, should know. Gale whispered in frustration, inaudible to Julianne and everyone else- a private line, one which exists only between them.

You can hear me, despite the shroud I've trained so long to master. It was subdued this time, hateful still, but subdued.

There's always someone who's better, pumpkin. Gale retorted, and sweetly so.

This man, she murmured, knowing he heard. She started tracing memory lane to Paradiso, to the day Azrael and that rebel puppet disappeared. She only slightly harbored feelings for Azrael now- he proved to be weak and ignorant, and it was more than enough reason to lose interest in him.

She likened herself to Hysteria, the mother of this beautiful man, and the very mother of the order, or so they fancied.
Beautiful Aveline's mother. She brought a finger to her lips. She admits hating Aveline, for being better at everything, without trying so hard, being loved by so many people, without needing to feign her kindness. She hated her for being the sun, she hated the vibrant soul Aveline possessed, because hers was old and worn.



Listen, I'm pressed for time, and privacy. She came to Garrett to get to Azrael, even if it wasn't what she was tasked to do- her assignment was something far cruel and malevolent. Julianne started etching through the air, and on to the surface of the hideous table. She wrote something, a code, a message which she hoped the twin entities would understand. She sealed the message with her insignia, and whispered, Blood.

She hopes The Order hadn't gotten wind of how she was straying from her duties and mandate as a candidate to being an elder- a decision kept secret to everyone. Who am I fooling, they're not fetuses, but then again, occult fetuses aren't even normal. Not the least normal. She thought to herself, and for a second she paused, and said, I'm a friend. She said desperately.

I'm Garrett's only friend, but he didn't say that. He was still practically a malfunctioned personality splitting away from the host to most people, And to those wacko medical doctors most especially. He laughed and zoned out. Julianne knew what's to happen next. If you are, he paused, why come only now? When a lot has happened, and you've seen everything? It was Garrett, she knew it was Garrett, the kind and melancholic, but gentle Garrett with a gentleman's humor. He was the real gentleman between them. Gale can't even compare.

Hah, she was relieved, because for the first time, she met him. She longed to meet him, after years of being assigned to him for surveillance, this lonely, estranged man who had come to the order's networks shortly after Celestina's death. The little girl was a barrier that contained his growing power, and as it grew, she grew weaker and started to fade away. Garrett didn't know that, nobody did. He just knew that she was dying. I'm glad, she heaved. This was how she likened herself to Hysteria, and Garrett to Zarall- the great Hawke who fell prey to The Order's manipulated fate. She adored that love story, being a romantic, and one who refuses to claim so.

This woman is old, but foolish. She's half your mother's age, and she refuses to grow up. Gale attacked Garrett with thoughts about her, and Garrett let him, ignoring him.

Garrett couldn't hear her thoughts, to Gale's frustration. Apparently, Gale isn't just egoistic and aggressive- he was a better Garrett, in handling his power, anyway.

He smiled at her, with sad eyes. Garrett didn't know how much he can tell her, or if he should at all. While he can't hear her thoughts, he can hear the sound of her heart, it's irregular heartbeat, heavy breathing. He felt what she felt. He sensed the tension, and a bit of her love. Gale kept quiet. He didn't want to risk making Garrett realize how he sympathized with this illusion-driven woman.
Delusional fool. Gale would have grunted loud enough to scare her. But Garrett knew better. He was set to protect Azrael, and if time and Fate permit, see Carver and talk to him. Or her, the thought always made him smile, no matter the circumstance. Don't get sidetracked, I beg you. Gale said irritably.

This, Julianne pointed to the sealed message, carved and invisible. She looked like she could say no more, I'm sorry. She breathed, slowly, and sucked in the air, along with her pride. For anything, and everything that has been done. Gale had already skillfully released the seal, the moment she uttered the word "blood."

Lost lives are lost lives. He looked at her, young and beautiful, but old and worn. The gray was starting to show, invisible to the naked and normal eye; the lines were deepening, the eyes, bright and dreamy they may have been, grew tired and passive. Do you not tire of hounding us? It was soft, nurturing, even. Suddenly, he grew tired of everything- the hunt, the mourning, the responsibility, and the endless chase. All of Garrett's hate was contained by Gale. He wished he'd had the dreams that Azrael had, to see his mother wearing the dreaded cloak, to fetch and give their grandfather Raziel another chance.



I'm sorry for what's to happen. She looked at him in the eye, and he caught her gaze, until she chose to break away.

It's what she prays everyday. He murmured, remembering Palmira. His suspicions of her remained.

He needs you. You know what that vow is going to unleash, and what it's going to seal forever. You know very well their fates. She almost begged him. He knew what she meant, what she desperately tries to tell him now- he went to see the place where history will take place, he went to see the wedding before it happened.



But Fate only knows. He looked up, imagined Celestia alive and watching him from the skies. Only Fate truly knows.

Garrett. She wanted to reach out her hand and touch his cold face, thaw his cold heart, whose warmth and love is reserved for Azrael. Carver. Aveline. For Celestia and Celestina.

So far, so good. He gestured to stand up, I thank you for taking the risk searching for me, but I'm afraid this is the last time you will see of me. He got up and replaced the ugly chair, deposited it closer to the table- where it belonged. He walked close to her and reached for her hand. He kissed her hand goodbye. I will endanger you no longer. He whispered to her, and vanished. He knew what danger she was in. He knew that one day, he may be the very end of her.



It was a brief love they shared.

And they knew they weren't going to see each other again.




Garrett disappeared past the houses and the little cottages that made Sunlit Tides. He ran his thumb over his fingers. Left hand, so it's closer to the heart. Ring finger, because we build relationships with it. But Gale chose the index finger, cut, but healing, when he swiftly wounded this finger to break the seal. Blood. He released her seal with Garrett's blood. This little guy, he looked at his pointer, to point you to where fate wishes. You never cease to adore the classic, Gale. He kept his chuckle low. Soon, he found himself opening the door of his little foothold like a normal person routinely does.

The next day, Garrett set out early. And that day, days from the awaited wedding in Sunlit Tides- that of Azrael and Palmira's, a present came, sitting idly on the porch of the Hawke household, wrapped beautifully in what seems to be pineapple cloth, so intricate with its ornate story of a wedding and a happy family.

Azrael went to his soon-to-be-wife.
Look, hon. One of your rich fans must have sent this. He teased her, It's a too fancy for my taste, but I see kids and a happy couple. That's us. He raised his brows repeatedly at his beloved symphony. Palmira never realized her dream of becoming a fashion cult, but she was greatly loved here.

Are you certain that's not from a paramour, waiting to get rid of the clutches of a future bride?

Well, I'm sure other men would want that. But why would I? I have the best girl in the world! He grabbed her by the waist and kissed her. Had he remembered his past, he would have added, "Second to Nan, that is." The kiss gave him a jolt, and a tug. He was remembering something, but couldn't place it. He shrugged. No use trying to remember the never and hadn't.

Later that night, because everyone forgot about the fancy present, while Palmira got down to get herself water to quench the midnight thirst, saw it sitting patiently in the counter, she turned on the light and appreciated the wrappings, until she touched the card. She giggled, thinking what kind of witty remark Azrael would have said about its sender.

But it faded the moment she saw the unsigned congratulations, which read,
Cheers to the newlyweds!

There was no mistake about it. She recognized that handwriting. She sat slowly, shivering, in solid fear and agony. They're coming for us. They're coming. She trembled, and failed to get back to their room, where Azrael slept snug in their bed, not knowing what his future bride was facing.

But the box, the box the size of a head sat quietly on the kitchen counter. On their wedding day, after the vows are exchanged, the Hawke bride will be wearing it- the lurking audience can't wait for the beautiful wife to a Mayfair to wear the ruby circlet. The trinket shall wait patiently until that day, and that moment comes.

In all that, Garrett watched from afar, he heard them. He felt them, and he knew that Azrael knew nothing.



Snow really fell, that, another day, despite the forecast.



Somewhere, in this somber weather, someone's waiting in cold.


At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 26- Somebody that I Used to Know
« Reply #80 on: June 03, 2014, 08:05:01 AM »
PS. Nobody told me Julianne's name was spelled with an a and not an e, I only found out when I played again. *Stares blankly off the horizon, somewhere

No worries, though. I am not with hate. Mehehehehe.  ::)
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline LivvieLove

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 26- Somebody that I Used to Know
« Reply #81 on: June 03, 2014, 01:30:31 PM »
Ah, I love Garrett's eyes!
He's kind of got a pretty awesome personality too, just laid back and cynical.

I'm still skeptical about Palmira though... I'll have to do some thinking on this.



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Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 26- Somebody that I Used to Know
« Reply #82 on: June 03, 2014, 11:14:24 PM »
Ah, I love Garrett's eyes!
He's kind of got a pretty awesome personality too, just laid back and cynical.

I'm still skeptical about Palmira though... I'll have to do some thinking on this.


Well, it's actually Gale. Garrett's eyes with Gale shoved at the back of his ego is golden- being a werewolf. I dare not alter that, but thank you! It was randomly and conveniently chosen as his eye color. *Smug. I loved making the conversations he (Gale) made. It was almost natural. LOL.

I sort of freaked out when I compared photos with Azrael and Garrett, they look strikingly similar. I even considered making the mistake of using Azrael off the bin. (Yes, I know, the three Hawkes are triplets, but still, with the way the game works at mass-producing pudding-face Sims), hopefully Carver is relatively different (who's basically all female now, but still).

Palmira cries. Such a hurtful comment. *Devious laughter.

At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 26- Somebody that I Used to Know
« Reply #83 on: June 06, 2014, 01:58:34 AM »
Someone came over to see how things are going.

At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 27- Little Hands
« Reply #84 on: June 06, 2014, 11:39:13 AM »
Ahh! Thank you everyone, for 3000 hits!

Because I'm a copycat (and as it goes on, should I wish to read from the start to, erm, review (yes, I forget sometimes) my eyes hurt from all the italicized words, and in all honesty, the shifting to italics is becoming tedious) I'm going to try conventional writing, with the quotation marks, and less the italics. I hope the change doesn't make me look bad. *Wink

Also, I suggest you listen to the song first. It's Little Hands by Inland Sky.  :)



Little hands
the world is yours
hold it close with open arms
little feet, with miles ahead
take it slow, see it all, take it in
I see me in you
you in me
i see me in you
you in me
I see it in your eyes
Little heart dance it out
so the ins and outs won't bring you down
little dream, grow up tall
with a little rain, a little sun you'll feel love
I see it in your eyes
I see it in your eyes
Little hands, the world is yours
hold it close, with open arms
little hands


Little Hands
Inland Sky

The moon sighed at the stars, fading behind the clouds that came to conceal its splendor. The moon knew that in a few moments, the sun will wake from its nap, and come to fill Sunlit Tides with romantic red, the shade of diffused blood pouring out a bleeding heart-vine. The mechanical clock that hanged from the wall, stuck in its pace, monotonous, raced to a few breaths to three. The stars spread at the ocean that spread overhead, Azrael looked up, breathed, and smiled. He savored the chill of the coming dawn and dug his hand in his coat-pocket for the house key. And then a click, a turn, another click.

It was three in the morning, and his shift was over. He was home to see his pink-toed angels.

The water crawled to the shores as he walked into their house, peacefully, and withdrew only to roll back again, because it was how nature works unprovoked. But his was a different peace.



As he stepped in, he saw he and Palmira in the living room, before the twins were born, when they giggled and laughed like first-time parents, getting excited with every kick and bump the baby makes. Because then, they hadn't known that their bundle of joy would come out as twins; they regularly went to the hospital for advice and monitoring, but there had been no mention about twins. It astounded the doctors, everyone expected a girl, but the surprise only offered joy to the their expecting-father colleague.



Inside, the delicious smell of torte captured him, a familiar smell it was- a delightful treat, but one, he knows, which Palmira never learned to cook. He grinned, nonetheless- he is getting hungry. "Maybe, just maybe, by some leap of faith and logic, she actually did it!" His nose was filled with the heavenly smell. "Ayo, how boastful, to leave it lying on the table like this!" It looked freshly made, he wondered if Palmira was awake waiting for him. He clapped and clasped his hands together. And as if it served as cue, his stomach started rumbling. "I am hungry." He took a slice and took his seat in front of the feast, thinking that he may have seconds, or thirds. He grinned, should Palmira be asleep, he was going to wake her up, it didn't matter that hell will be unleashed if he did, or that he's exhausted. They rarely have time for each other these days, especially with their wedding coming along. "How ironic," he thought.



In his happiness, his heart felt a pinch. He looked at his hand, his fingers, slowly joining the palm of the hand to an embrace. He looked at his closed hand, and felt the tiny hand that he loved to hold and feel. He closed his eyes, he was tired, but never busy enough to forget a lovely memory, beautiful that it hurt him. Too beautiful, the memory he and Palmira shared. "Hands," he whispered. He had always loved hands, because of what they could do. Slowly, he released his fingers to a rest, feeling Palmira's calloused fingertips, and the little hand so soft, but no longer. "Love." He thought about Palmira and their brown-eyed wonder. They were both his brown-eyed wonder.



Azrael uttered his name, and then set down the fork. He wondered if their little angel was happy, because they were happy now. In their dark years, he thought he and Palmira would go on hating each other, never forgiving the other for the words that have been said and for the actions that sprang from anger. The euphoria the torte gave him didn't last.



He looked at the treat that lay waiting for him, but he couldn't bring himself to touch it again. He thanked that Palmira never gave up, and never tired forgiving him for blaming her. But he knew. He knew when a fragile thing stopped breathing in his sleep, when there was no cause to blame, and he can't forgive himself until now for pointing his finger at Palmira, who loved their son as much. He found it hard to accept. He finds it difficult now that for some three or four years, hate and anxiety filled the house, and for years, he would wake up to the fear of finding their dresser half-empty, with Palmira's clothes gone, and ultimately, her. Azrael got up and put away the feast, along with his slice.



He took his flight to the stairs and as he walked to the nursery, the memories only came flooding back. He saw his memories with little Gabriel, stubborn, always insistent on the words he thought right, leaving his parents laughing. And because Gabriel didn't want to lose to his parents, he would laugh, and laugh, and laugh. "Ah," Azrael could hear the crisp laughter. "Priceless." He would give anything to hear that laughter again, but he knows he can't be more selfish than he had already been through the years.

Azrael glanced at the balusters. "Another memory." Palmira insisted on placing the potty chair outside the nursery, but not in the toilet. He never really understood why, so he just let her. Wherever was fine for him. And it was him who took the pains of soldier training. "Dada!" Gabriel would sometimes call out, and place his hand in the potty, "Poop!" And then he would show it to Azrael, like some trophy, and laugh and laugh, and Azrael would only look at how much of an abomination his little angel can become. Gabriel would look at his eyes and ask with pouting lips, "Dada angggwwyy?" To which Azrael responds, "Maybe?" The two would then commence their staring contest to see who cries first- Gabriel because he thinks his daddy is being mean, and Azrael because he'll have to clean up the mess Gabriel made out of himself. The staring contest only happened when Gabriel didn't threaten to put his pooped-coated hand in his mouth, because then, Azrael would rush to bathe him in lightning speed, garnering his name, "Speedo." "Dada, Speedo! Speedo!" Another laughter. Azrael loved the sound of his laughter. He was certain Palmira did, too.



He stood by the door, and looked at the floor. "This floor," he sighed, "has so many memories embedded in them." He sees their man-to-man-talk about clowns and apples. Clowns, because they surprised him greatly that he cried, and apples, "Apples. Hmmm. I never really found out why." He let out a sad hum. "Dada, apul," Sometimes it was "apowl" but Azrael didn't dare point out, "App- appppeeel! Shoo! Shoo!" Azrael used to tease him, thinking it was some harmless distaste, until Gabriel bawled his eyes out and just wouldn't stop. He kept beating Azrael's chest until he grew tired and fell asleep. "Such a meanie," Palmira commented.



But the one memory he had always thought about, because it puzzled him, was his memory of reading to him. Azrael just couldn't place whether the book was something about sashimi and pastry, or Finger Painting 101. "Daah-" Gabriel let out a long sigh afterwards, not typical of a boy his age. "What's wrong, love?" "Nana. Nana, watching." He pointed his finger to the top of the staircase. Azrael looked, and seeing no one there, asked his boy, "Nana? Who's Nana, baby?" "Nana, sad," Gabriel answered. "Where's Nana now?" "Nana away. Sad. Cry." Azrael half-believed ghosts, he had his own experience at the hospital, but who was this Nana? "An imaginary friend?" Azrael thought, and still thinks now. "Nana." Gabriel stared at the empty space for a minute or two, and then raised his tiny hand, his fingers opened and closed, and said, "Bye-bye."



The memories were starting to become painful. He hurried and opened the door to the nursery, finding one angel awake. Awake, but quiet. Sometimes Azrael wondered if infants and toddlers had this shared language composed of babbling and meowing. He went to say hello to his baby girl, "Anathema, honey," he snuggled and kissed her tiny belly-button. "Missed daddy?" She giggled. "Well, well. I'm pretty sure you did." Azrael bumped his nose to his little girl- this little girl who had been the only one that the doctors saw. "Taken care of your little brother, eh?" He kissed her finally, and tucked her in the crib. "Why don't you sleep, awhile, little angel? You've waited for daddy, didn't you? You can sleep now."

Azrael then turned to the crib that faced Anathema's. "Hello, hello, little miracle." He rubbed the babe's stomach, and contented himself with looking, because this angel was sound asleep. His momentary peace was broken by another memory, he started remembering again. It was little Gabriel haunting his father's memories.

"Daa! Daa! Hungwwyyrrr." "Is that a roar, Gabby?" "Rawr. Rawr, dada, rawr!" Gabriel would put in a lot of effort to roar, but he only amused his father in his cuteness. "That's adorable, hon," Azrael would brush his hair back and kiss his forehead. "Cereal?" "Uuurryaal?" "Oh, I forgot it's rotten bananas." "-Anana. -Ana!" He was struggling to say banana, it was a long word, after all. "Alright, alright, Anana it is."



It was Gabriel he saw when he looked at Abaddon- a name he protested against, "How are you going to tell him that his name is after a Fallen?" "We are not strict followers of anything, Azrael. Your name, just your name is an example." "And if he takes interest in such matters and suddenly asks why we named him such and such, and asks why destruction? Why a name that translated to destruction?" His wife had a penchant to these kind of names, even naming their girl Anathema. "We're not followers of anything, but what about the others?" "Spare me, Azrael. Spare me." It was an argument he let pass. Should they decide to change their names, he would understand. But the names meant a lot to Palmira, and Palmira almost never asked for anything. Azrael looked at his sleeping child, and all he sees is Gabriel.



And as if he had not enough, he looked out the window, only to see Gabriel, with his newly cut hair, playing with the doll a friend gave him, "Bobo," Gabriel calls him.



But Bobo wasn't the only one. Azrael saw him talking to this other doll he has no memory of but assumed to have come from Palmira. He called it Pat. He forgot about the doll, and now it was gone, as Bobo had. "Palmira may have put them away." He stepped to see the photos on the cork board, yet to hear himself say, "Gabriel, look, did mommy buy that?" Azrael pointed to the green doll which found its comfort among the pillows. "Ohhh," a spark of interest in his eyes.



He crawled close to the green doll, dragging poor Bobo behind. "Bobo, Pat," Gabriel said, introducing Bobo to this curious green friend. "Pat, Bobo. Friend, good. Good!" He held both toy's hands and made them exchange a handshake.



"Dada," he then turned to his father who saw the whole thing. "They," he pointed. "No like." The last thing he remembered about it was Gabriel growing more fond of Pat, and less of Bobo. And that worried him a bit. But he soon forgot about it. He didn't think he would remember them, and now.



This had become a ritual for Azrael, in a certain day of the year. The memories flood back, and each time, these memories opened the wound he thought had healed. He never told Palmira- it was his way of repenting for the wrong he's done her. And as it had been since, Azrael felt the gravity of his memories, and felt the bed calling him- he lost his appetite for sleep, but he needed the comfort the soft sheets offered. He needed the peace Palmira's gaze offered, who may be sleeping soundly as their Anathema and Abaddon. "Good night, little ones." He kissed each of them one more time and headed for the door, closing it behind him.

And that moment, the twins woke up. A serene voice started whispering secrets to their ears.



But he can't turn his back on his beloved Gabriel. He took out a photo that he always kept, "Gabby, look. Smile for Daddy," but Gabriel didn't smile.



But there was one more memory. They won't stop attacking him. Only this time, like the memory that welcomed him the moment he entered his home, it was him and her, him comforting Palmira. She worried that the same may happen to the child. She cried, and worried. Anxiety robbed her of sleep, that it was Azrael that started worrying. But he didn't know- he doesn't know- that it was not just about the child, the only child they thought it would be, that she was carrying. It was about Teodor, the Uncle Teodor that Azrael has long forgotten, and the father of the woman he so loves. "Palmira, sweet." "No, no. This- I'm alright."

Palmira worried that her misunderstood father was after them, and that he, in some way, managed to creep into their house and take away Gabriel's soul, or his life, and that he may come back again to do the same to their child. "But she's a girl," she would tell herself, "And girls went to The Order." She would cry thinking about it at night. And a female Hawke was prized, although not as much as a male Hawke. "The price I pay for the lies. I'm no different from my father," she mocks herself as often as she prays for forgiveness.



But, dear. How Palmira is wrong about everything.

Azrael breathed the last memory in, and breathed anew. He took light steps, and slowly pushed open the bedroom door, where the light crept into, because Palmira left it open for him, and so she could hear the twins in their wake. She was already asleep, and he no longer had the enthusiasm nor the will to wake her. "The bath," he remembered, "Later," he decided. He got out of his coat, and then decided for a quick shower, thinking how she can go ballistic once she finds out. Soon, he got rid of the cold the water left him, crept into the bed, slowly, quietly, gently, so that she wouldn't wake up.

He lost his appetite for sleep, but his battered body yearned to rest.



As he fell to sleep, he saw a girl, young in age, cradling his deceased child. He heard a lullaby that sounded familiar- as familiar as the smell of torte and the feeling of warmth. The girl hummed, and then sang. She sang to Gabriel.



She continued to sing, and when she was done, she opened her eyes to reveal her blue eyes.



Azrael, who for the longest time was eluded by his dreams, fell to a spell his mother sent, because she can no longer see her son fall deeper into oblivion, and she hoped, like that one time in his childhood, that he wakes up remembering every blur and tear, and hear every word and fear, even if the dream would mean nothing now. She hoped, but she also prepared herself for what she expected.

She cast her shadow dark as her cloak, in the slowly rising sun, waking from its nap.





I know, I'm no tear-jerker.
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Online Trip

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 27- Little Hands
« Reply #85 on: June 07, 2014, 03:27:59 PM »
I took a few days to read through this and I was not disappointed! I'm absolutely in love with the narrative style and screenshots, though I think I need another read-through just to let the finer points of the story sink in. :P

Keep up the good work.
No respect, no chance, cease and desist when I chant-

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Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 27- Little Hands
« Reply #86 on: June 07, 2014, 10:24:38 PM »
I took a few days to read through this and I was not disappointed! I'm absolutely in love with the narrative style and screenshots, though I think I need another read-through just to let the finer points of the story sink in. :P

Keep up the good work.

Thank you, Trip, for tolerating my narratives! *Sneers and cheers

A treat to my dear readers, some photos I, apparently, still have. These are from Sunset Valley, seeing these made me miss the town.

The three spending the season together,  because they don't have that chance in the story. Meet Carver, Garrett, and Azrael as toddlers growing up together:



And the next season, there's a missing Hawke. Who is it? Carver! Coincidentally, Carver is missing. The one in blue tux with his back to the camera is Azrael. And the other one is Garrett. The parents, Abaddon and Hysteria are on the sofa. Aveline is, well, being an adult and photobombing the whole thing.




And the next ones are from the teen party Garrett hosted, promptly calling back their parents immediately. I don't know, does the game really-?



Yes, even before, Garrett had been devious and manipulative. *Cough, I meant Gale. As you may have already figured, that's Azrael dancing with his dorky bangs obstructing his view.

Lastly, *ta-dah! Who is this girlish boy, you ask? It's Carver *in monotone.



He was, well. While his brothers were busy dancing with girls and influencing other teenagers, he was over here, erm, casting spells and thoughts on key lime pie.



PS. Because I don't believe Carver will ever have his chance to appear as his old self.
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 28- Close to You
« Reply #87 on: June 25, 2014, 09:20:15 AM »
I enjoyed writing this, I'm not sure you'll enjoy reading it? HAHA. I think I may have written too much. Anyway, say hello to Hysteria's world!

PS. This is by-far the least cryptic chapter I've written. I think.

On the day that you were born the angels got together
and decided to create a dream come true
So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair
of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue


Close to You
The Carpenters

The lazy forest that slept started to slowly breathe and be filled with, and stripped of life- the leaves were starting to fall, in the midst of dead trees crawling with moss and decay. The lady of the forest sighed. She watched this realm grow and fall, and now she watches it slowly crumbling. She sighs for her son who refuses to acknowledge his weakness. She cries for the other son that has been reduced to ignorance. Yet, she smiles for the one son that mocked Fate, her own mother, and denied her. "The Mayfairs are cursed," she whispered weakly and sent for rain to pass to the other realm, to the world where mortals walked and hated each other, for their greed and lust for power and worldly desires, "And I am doubtlessly to blame." She sent for the rain, because a new soul will be joining her. And she was just being Hysteria. She was just fulfilling her duties. Being a mother was not, supposedly. She gathered herself and got the dreaded hood of the infamous cloak over her head. Schedules needed to be kept. And she was behind schedule. "Teodor," she muttered, and vanished. "Teodor." Her voiced echoed slightly throughout the forest. Soon, the trees and the rain will come together for a celebration.

In the midst of the dying and grief-stricken trees stood trees, striving, and springing to life- these trees that used to be mortal souls. "The rain drop told me," one swayed its arms of branches, as if to feel the wind, and continued, "A new one will be joining us today." "Ah, yes. News like that come and go," the other chuckled. "Were you a man, or a woman?" The first one gambled, initiating a courtship of curiosity. "Ah, I- I-" the other struggled, trailed off, and finally answered, "I'm not sure I remember." "Do you know how long you've been here?" "Do you? There is no concept of time here," the stammering tree replied, sure of itself. "You must be very bored," the first tree said and added, "I bet you were some philosopher in your mortal life." "I'm too old to remember." And the conversation reached its end. The stammerer thought to itself, "Nor is there a day or night. Only darkness." It looked up and wondered when the stars started to fill the sky and adorn it with beautiful specks. "When, indeed." The two trees looked at the sleeping Emmanuelle and joined her in her slumber.  But there were other trees, and they had their own curiosities to sate.



"Why do you think she keeps that thing with her?" One tree whispered to another. A different, nameless, but old tree replied, "She fancies them. I've watched her looking at it all day. She likes it, its sound, and the thrill of its supposed-irreversible feature." "That's true. She's lived longer than us." "What makes you think that?" "Well, she was already here when I came." "That's true. But have you considered that she's just as old as us?" "Why, now, would you think that?" "Oh, now you're asking the questions." "Oh, just answer me, friend." "I don't know. She looks so curious, like a child. And she's very arrogant. I think. I sometimes hear her talking to herself, complaining about a young girl." "You're talking about her new assignment." "Assignment?" "You are new here, indeed," the old tree replied, "That explains why you still remember so much from your mortal life. And why you can be rash in judging her." "Oh, but I don't judge, friend." "Well, I'm talking about a girl, a mortal girl. She talks to her everyday." "What? I never had anyone talking to me when I was alive." "Well, this girl is special. She's a Hawke." "Hawk? A bird?" "Oh no, that's Hawke, with an 'e,' I tell you. Sometimes, when she forgets, she talks to her in open channels." "What are you talking about, friend? I am greatly confused." "Emmanuelle, she-" "Wait, she has a name?" "Oh, of course!" The old tree would have clapped its hands together, had it hands to use. "How come we don't?" "Ah, it's just for formality and all those things. The Lady of the Forest named her. Hysteria." "Hysteria? Is that even a name?" "I suggest you don't continue with that attitude, my friend. Hysteria is the keeper. She's the reason we're here." "I blame her, then! For robbing me of my life!" "Oh, but to do that is never an option. She has her own worries. She's one who's truly lived the longest, I think." "Why can't we all, then?" "Do you wish to destroy the balance of the world? Do you know how lonely the keeper is? How she longs to live and die like mortals do?" Silence haunted them for a brief moment.



Embarrassed but not defeated, the young tree asked the old tree, "You said something about open channels." "I am not entirely sure about this, but because I've lived longer, very long, I came up with theories-" "Oh, great," the young one cried in disbelief. "Do you wish to listen or not?" "My ears are yours." "But we don't have ears." The two trees laughed, "As I was saying, I think Emmanuelle is a guardian. And that Hysteria is her mistress. Hysteria is, well, she's what us mortals, or so we used to be, call death. I don't think she likes it, being called that. I wouldn't. In a way I think she's life, too. But that's subject to debate. And I think that, Emmanuelle isn't the only one. We can't be sure, can we? We're rooted here since we woke up to this place. But Emmanuelle, she's never left this place." "You were the first tree?" "Oh, no. Do you see those two trees over there? Where the wind moves and sways them. Heavens, how come we never get shuffled by the wind?" The young tree ignored his comment, and asked, "So, they were the first trees?" "Yes, I don't know which one came first, though."

"Lovers." Emmanuelle muttered in her sleep.



"Did you hear that!" The young tree exclaimed. "She's always like that," the old one replied. "I think she was telling us they were lovers! Tragic. They could have died together! Was it an accident?" "So, even if you've passed and became a tree, you have not lost your angst and, most definitely your careless mouth." "Can't blame me, I died young." "How?" "That's what I think is weird. I don't know. I just get the feeling. I don't remember my name either." "Names are not important here, young one." "It's important to them," the young tree commented. "We don't know about that." "Let's not forget we're still talking about Emmanuelle and her channels," the young one reminded the old tree. "Of course. To put it simply, when you see her like that- sleeping- it means her channels are closed. She, well, she's somewhere else. Somewhere not here." "And when the channels are open?" "She's awake chatting away the whole afternoon, if you get what I mean." "Yes, the joke is very, say, encouraging."

The two trees stayed still, not because they were simply sedentary, but because the waited for the wind to cross to their side. But the young tree broke the silence and asked, "And this Hawke?" The old tree answered, "Now, that, my friend, is a mystery. Except that sometimes Emmanuelle calls her Karela Hale." "Fancy name." "It means bitter gourd." "Really?" "No. I was joking, is that what you wanted me to say?" "Humor me, old man. Humor me." "Except that we're trees, young man." The young tree heard the old one yawn. "Are you sleeping? Why are you sleeping?" The young tree worried. It doesn't know how long it'd been here, rooted, but it never felt sleepy. Yawn never visited it.

The young tree worried. It didn't know that it was its old friend's time to go back as a mortal. This tree will shrivel as the soul passes and crosses over, and shall be filled again when the time comes. The young tree will soon learn about that, but never carry such knowledge to its mortal life. It will die and refill the shriveled tree and give it life. And forget about its mortal life once again, but in that moment, know that it will walk among mortals,  and forget again. "Good night, old man," the young tree said softly, "Good night, old friend."

In the mortal world, it was but a brief moment.



There was silence in Emmanuelle's Grove, and she slept deeply. She will miss those chattering trees. She smiled in her sleep. The old tree was right- Emmanuelle was older than any of the trees in her grove, but she was not as old as Hysteria, nor was she as old as the forest. She slept because her kind needed sleep, the same way mortals needed sleep and food and shelter, and all the luxury they can get their hands on. But Emmanuelle only needed sleep. Sleep fed her every need.

"Emmanuelle," the voice was shrill and cold, almost ghostly. "Wake up, Emmanuelle," the voice filled the forest, waking the soil and upturning rocks and stones with her gentle command. "Emmanuelle, child," the voice of the forest kept calling, but Emmanuelle resisted. She was deep in her sleep, communing with a mortal. Emmanuelle couldn't hear her mistress, Hysteria, calling her. So, Hysteria spread decay in her grove, slowly commanding the apple trees that she loves so much to shed their green to orange. "Mistress, how you can be so cruel," Emmanuelle said, not asked, as she rose and stretched her arms.



She was asleep, but she could hear. She wanted to fancy for a moment that she didn't, that her body dies the moment she sleeps, so she grows deaf and blind to everything around her. "What did you need, Mistress?" It was the same voice, the voice from the mirror that fled in fear in her Mistress' devastation. It was the same voice that whispered ancient secrets to Raziel Hawke. It was the same voice that Azrael heard in his dream. It was a very familiar voice.

Emmanuelle rose, let her bare feet touch the cold soil. "The trees are dead and struggling. But the soil. The soil is so wonderfully alive!" She liked that everything that lived in this realm- plants, animals- spilled over and spread throughout the mortal world. "Even souls." "Yes, child, even souls." Hysteria replied, calling her out from the mirror.

"What did you need, Mistress?" Emmanuelle wanted to eat, not because she was hungry, but because she sought the texture of food in her mouth. "You have become accustomed to mortal ways, child." "I'd call it a hobby." "Ah, is it?" But Emmanuelle knew that her mistress didn't need an answer. "How is Carver?" "Well, Mistress. Your child is well." "I take it you enjoy pestering him?" "I- if I'm not mistaken, the youngest Hawke is now a lady." "Like yourself?" There was no tone of mockery, Hysteria only wanted to know what Emmanuelle would say, knowing that they're similarly longing for a mortal life. "Yes, I suppose." "You're very tame, child. Yet you are tactless to my Carver. And no, I do not wish to scold you. What I'm saying is-" She trailed off, Emmanuelle knew what she was saying. Hysteria wants Emmanuelle to be as warm, and as less pretentious as she is to Carver. Hysteria has long known how Emmanuelle would stiffen in her presence. "The ceremony, it's coming soon. No? It's happening soon." "Do you wish to see your children, Mistress?" "No," she chuckled, but sadly, "You know I can't."



Emmanuelle waited for Hysteria to continue. "Do you think it wrong that I dispatch my loyal stewards to the mortal world?" "You mean-" "Yes, I mean Kiwi. Ah, such a name, that child chose such a name, and to even tell my Carver that his family swore allegiance to me. That child makes me smile." Emmanuelle kept silent, and Hysteria continued, "And Matteo. Matteo!" Emmanuelle waited, but Hysteria only said, "Cai," Emmanuelle shivered. "No worries, child. But if you allow me, I wish to know why you left Azrael." "He no longer wished for my guidance." "Hence, your sarcasm and flimsiness with Carver? Don't be mistaken, I am not angry." "I don't know, Mistress. Forgive me. I turned my back against my identity as this, 'Cai,' because of my feelings." Emmanuelle really didn't know. She was so loving and nurturing to Azrael, but him banishing her broke her heart. "I was-" "You were-?" "Heartbroken, Mistress. Deeply heartbroken." "It's my fault, child. Forgive me." "No, Mistress. The mortals, it's their fault." "And here we are secretly hoping and wishing to be like them." The two smiled weakly. "I do not send my stewards to love my children, but they do, don't they? They do." "Yes, Mistress. But you love them all equally." "As you, child. As you."

Hysteria left, leaving Emmanuelle her orders. "You know what to do, child."

Emmanuelle picked a fruit, a flame fruit, the mortals calls it. "Warm and fuzzy." Fuzzy was a word she learned from Kathilla Hale, Carver's biological sister and daughter by fate. "Yo, Hawke." Emmanuelle crashed into Carver's sleep, waking him. It was funny to her how she kept insisting that Carver call himself 'she', and 'Karela' when to her and to his mother, he was a 'he.' "What do you want, weirdo?" Carver replied, annoyed. "When are you going to wake up? I'm lonely." "Your lack of company is not my concern. You're immaterial. Nobody can see you. And I'm awake. You woke me, in case you forgot." "True." "What? You actually admit it?" "That makes you happy, doesn't it- me losing to you in our arguments." "Not when you're not trying. Where's the fun in that?" "You sound like Gale." "Who's Gale, your lover?" "You mock me, Hawke. No. Hate to break it to you, babe, but Gale is your brother. Well sort of." "What nonsense are you up to now?" "You have indeed, weakened. You can't sense your family. You couldn't even sense your dear Poncho's return."



The two kept quiet, thought about what they should say next.

"I know no Gale." "I know. Because technically, Gale is, uh, not your brother, but your brother's other self." "What?" "Stop talking as if 'what' is the only word you know. Come on, you're some science freak." "Exactly. My vocabulary, in that sense, isn't the best 'round town. And Poncho?" "I know how much you love Poncho, your sassy cat, but he isn't what you should be worried about." "Who, then? My brother 'Gale,' eh?" "Maybe. But I think Azrael could be a more important concern? To address that is?" "You dare butt into my sleep to talk about Azrael? You're kidding me." "Well, he's here." "What, here? Where is this conversation going?" "Don't make me feed you. You're independent. You can read between the lines." "I'd rather that you be straightforward. You can  be a freak sometimes, I don't know which of the things you say isn't a joke, or a joke."

Emmanuelle sighed irritably. "Have you heard about 'The Wedding of the Decade?' you little-" "I heard the pizza guy talking about it, I'm a little too busy with my life, I don't have time for celebrities." "Dong. Dong. Dong. Heavens grant me a firecracker." "Nonsense." "If you'd listen, or even bothered to ask just a little, you'd know and probably gag at who's getting married to whom." "Please. Don't talk like one of those nut cases Hill watches on TV." "Yeah, I think your sister's pregnant. But that's not the issue." "What! What do you mean by pregnant! You dare?" "I dare, 'what?' exactly? You're not listening to me. Leave Hilly alone, she' an adult. We're discussing your lack of competence and prowess." "Excuse me?" "If you weren't so busy living like a mortal and utterly forgetting about getting at least half of your telepathy back, you'll know that Azrael's here." "That's not possible-" "Like I said, you're not listening! Have been for many years. Probably since half of your teen angst and raging hormones." "It's not even April." "I'm better than that. At least grant me a bit of your respect." "Hard to do. But, seriously?" "Seriously. Really. Do you want more superlatives? I have a bunch stashed in my chest." "Gross." "Wow, now I can't help but look down on you."

Emmanuelle got another fruit and watched the grandfather clock, "Hey, the time's stuck. What time is it there now?" Emmanuelle asked Carver casually. "A little past eight. We're talking?" "I can't believe you!" "Me neither," Carver shrugged. "Something's wrong." "Yep, you're officially crazy. There's no way Azrael's here." "He is. And he kept his name. I don't know why this woman Palmira didn't bother change their names. Maybe she's hoping to be found by The Order. Gale must hate her." "Palmira? And Gale, again?" Emmanuelle was busy getting worried over the clock. The time was stuck. The time is stuck. Did Hysteria want to get rid of her mortal attachments, and penchant for worldly things? But this clock had been here for so long. She has no choice but to ask Hysteria later. She really loves this clock.



Emmanuelle sucked in her breath, "Okay, we'll go slow on this. Because apparently, Kiwi said nothing to you." "Kiwi?" "Stop asking like that, it's getting annoying." "Oh, I like where this is going. Pressure point. Mehehe." "Don't be childish." "So now, I'm childish. Hmm. Okay. Okay, I'll let you talk and get this over with." "Listen, chap. You get ready because in a few days, Azrael is getting married. And you do know what happens when the Hawke heir marries, no?" "He grows a beer belly and have kids? Or is that- have kids, then a beer belly?" Carver waited for the invisible weirdo to laugh, and when she didn't, he was forced to ask, "Ah, no?" "No, they already have kids. Palmira, this woman he's to marry, kept postponing it, the wedding I mean. Do you know why?" "Why are you talking to me like I'm in big trouble?" "Because you are." "I'm clueless. A little help?" "I need you to be in your brother's wedding." "Wha- why? And how do you plan to squeeze me into a private wedding?" "How do you know it's private?" "Ah, I guessed? And apparently, I'm good at it?" "It'd be very easy for me to, like, kill you right now." "Oh, you won't." "Not now, anyway. As I was saying-" "Woah, woah! Hold up, weirdo. When did I say I want to be part of this?" "This is your brother we're talking about?" "So what? We've lived apart. I don't see the point of a reunion. He thinks we're all dead." "No, he doesn't remember any of you at the moment." "Even better!" "Really?" "Yes! Really!" Emmanuelle only kept looking at the clock.



Emmanuelle cut off the channels. She had to talk some sense into Carver. And properly. The way they mess up each other's chances of making a proper conversation was upsetting her. She shouldn't have left Azrael. "Shame on you, you call yourself a steward." Emmanuelle bit her lip. "Cai, eh." Emmanuelle was playing with the idea of reconnecting with Azrael. But what would he say? He's a man of science now, wanting an explanation for everything. He might end up thinking he's schizophrenic.

Emmanuelle sat in front of the mirror and pondered. "Why not?" The young tree heard her say out loud. "Hello, there," Emmanuelle turned to it, but absently. She looked beyond, searching. "Ah, hello. Hello, Lady Emmanuelle." The young tree would have bowed. "Ha! Why are you so formal. I'm just a free-loader here." "Do you always talk to the trees, Lady Emmanuelle?" "No, this is the first time." "May I ask why, then?" "Just thought you needed someone to talk to." "How kind of you!" "Kind doesn't fit me, I think you know that." "As a wise ol' tree told me, "We don't know that.'" "Flatterer." "I'm quite pleased."

The wind touched the young tree's branches, it grew delighted and started to dance slightly, swaying. "What do you think, Mr Tree?" "Of what, my lady?" "How I should get rid of my arrogance," she smiled, and the shamed tree bowed, "You heard, even in your sleep." "Yes, I hear things. Even when I don't want to. But rest assured, I don't dislike you for it, what you said, I mean." "I'm truly sorry, Lady Emmanuelle!" "Meh, it's fine. Didn't I say? So, what do you think?" "I think, that, one should be nice even to the most rude person. It makes them feel bad." The young tree felt. It knew that feeling well. "True. I suppose I can try that. I used to be really nice, you know. Well, not so long ago, it was." "Yes. You can be kind without being necessarily nice. Which one do you want to be?" "I wish to be neither. I wish to be- ah, would you mind if I go back to sleep?" "I would feel very lonely, but I suppose I have no say in what the Lady wishes to do." "And when you do?" "I wish to talk to you more." "Ha. Frank. Silence must tire you." "Oh, yes. Lady Emmanuelle, why does your face look like that? I mean no offense. I think you look beautiful. I just-" "No, no. It's fine. These, these are marks of age. Of power. I think my body can no longer contain it." "Then, Hysteria, ah, the Mistress, she can help you?" "She can. But I don't wish to abandon this body. I lived in, and with this body for so long."



The two hummed to the wind. "Morn never shed its glory in the forest, does it?" "No, it doesn't." "Ah, forgive me, Mr Tree. But sleep is calling me. I hope you understand why I do this, and why I have to." "It's alright, Lady Emmanuelle." "Hmm, Emmanuelle is fine. Or Cai, for that matter." She winked at the young tree and went back to bed.

"Weirdo." "Hmm?" "Where have you ran off to? I've been talking to you and you haven't said anything." "Stuff happened." "Stuff?" "Didn't I tell you before? I'm as real as you are." "Uhuh. We're back to arguing?" "No. I'm just saying. And I remember saying that I'm going to sue. I hope you remember that." "With subpoena in hand?" "Got that right." "Well, good luck with that. I dare you to come up my door." "But listen. Azrael really is in Sunlit Tides." "I know that now." "By what means?" "Kiwi." "He told you? I'm quite surprised." "I'm suddenly confused by your familiarity with my husband." "Kiwi's all yours, Hawke. I could care less. I'm just being a nice girl trying to reunite a family." "But didn't you say that Azrael remembers nobody now?" "Yup. You listened. I'm glad." "Then what use are we?" "Well. Just go to the wedding." "Go? Barge into? Walk like a boss?" "Just grab a chair in there. I have my ways." "Really? How real are you, again?" Using the words of this child's mother, Emmanuelle replied, "As you."



"Hey," "What now, Hawke?" "Tell me about my brother's children." "Ah, twins. Anathema and Abaddon." "After Dad?" "Yeah, but it's Palmira's idea. He has no inkling, that his father's name is Abaddon. She messed up his memories." "What!" "To protect him." "Watcher, geez. Why is this happening?" "I can't answer that. I'm here on orders." "You're part of this?" "I'm not sure myself." "Then how can I trust you?" "I can't trust myself. Haha." "Then, is Abaddon like dad?" "Without magic in his blood?" "Yes." "Yes." "That means-?" "It's what it means." "And Anathema?" "She's a lovely girl. Palmira is actually tucking her angels in their sleep. Or something to that effect. She's worried. She's anxious." "Wedding jitters?" "It's not as simple as that." "Do you know more that Kiwi hasn't told me?" "I'm not sure. We should arrange for a meeting, no?" "Oh, please. This, again?" "I'm serious. And I think you should know about little Gabriel."



While Emmanuelle and Carver were at each others' throats, Palmira walked to see Anathema. She didn't want to touch her, but she loved her. Anathema inherited what she shouldn't. Everything she and Aveline worked hard for are now threatened by her own daughter. "Love. Anathema, dear." Palmira realized late, she can't go through with the wedding, but it was too late now. She didn't want to break Azrael's heart again. Anathema was their daughter. And she was a bane.



"Well," Emmanuelle rose. "Let's do this. I have a plan!" Emmanuelle sat smug. Patient.





Do agree that it's not as cryptic. Even if only silently. HAHA.
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline LivvieLove

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 28- Close to You
« Reply #88 on: June 25, 2014, 02:00:53 PM »
I love how everything is slowly starting to come together, from your misc. story to your Reincarnation project! So she's the invisible weirdo, among other things! It's all starting to make a whole lot of sense! But I wonder what Anathema has to do with it? Why is she a bane? Why does Palmira want to back out on the marriage? Why is it so important that Carver is there for the wedding? What does it mean when the heir gets married? So many questions!

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 28- Close to You
« Reply #89 on: June 27, 2014, 07:03:02 AM »
I love how everything is slowly starting to come together, from your misc. story to your Reincarnation project! So she's the invisible weirdo, among other things! It's all starting to make a whole lot of sense! But I wonder what Anathema has to do with it? Why is she a bane? Why does Palmira want to back out on the marriage?
Livvie! Anathema is a very good girl, she deserves as much love as her deceased brother Gabby, and her twin Abaddon. But something's wrong with her, and that's the reason why Palmira's having second thoughts about going through with the marriage. Things just went haywire with the twins turning out the way they did, unexpected, and definitely unplanned. I was surprised by the result myself. Recall, that in the first place the baby was supposed to be just a girl (a news that brought relief to Palmira, we'll get into that later).

Here she is. I adore her, gosh. She's really cute! Pardon the Watcher's instinct.



Between Anathema and Abaddon, I (honestly) haphazardly chose those names. But now, I'm playing with their namesakes, with those two names carrying a stigma. *snickers.
I'm not sure everyone knows it, but I'll say it anyway. Abaddon is a fallen angel, of destruction while Anathema is, well, something evil/associated with vehement dislike. You guys are free to think about what can happen from this (hopefully interesting) discovery.

Quote
Why is it so important that Carver is there for the wedding?
But of course, Carver is a Hawke! Family's invited. Mehehe.

Quote
What does it mean when the heir gets married? So many questions!
Keep them coming, I'll make sure to address them as the story progresses. I hope.  ::)

The next one will be "Linger" by The Cranberries- the story behind the meeting.
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline LivvieLove

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  • "Sh! Be quiet! The nutters are out to get me."
Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 28- Close to You
« Reply #90 on: July 08, 2014, 04:27:07 PM »
I look forward to having those questions addressed! This story is at the climax and I'm like "noooo! I need to read more! What happens next!" Darn those cliffhanger endings.

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 29- Linger
« Reply #91 on: July 10, 2014, 06:35:59 AM »
I look forward to having those questions addressed! This story is at the climax and I'm like "noooo! I need to read more! What happens next!" Darn those cliffhanger endings.

I honestly thought I wouldn't be able to grab time for this. So many things coming and popping up. And, you say cliffhangers, but I'd call them enthusiastic interruptions. I know, it doesn't make sense. Hoho.

Get ready for information overload.  ;)


Oh, I thought the world of you.
I thought nothing could go wrong,
But I was wrong. I was wrong.
If you, if you could get by, trying not to lie,
Things wouldn't be so confused and I wouldn't feel so used,
But you always really knew, I just wanna be with you


Linger
Wrapped around your finger like The Cranberries

Azrael cupped the cold wind to his face, hoping that the chill will cleanse away the tension and the anxiety. Because whatever he was feeling, although he can't name or place it, he felt "Chagrined," he huffed and rubbed his hands together, after having shuffled through the word he learned from his fine friend in college, "What was his name?" He kept thinking as he walked, past the singing shore and dancing sand. It was odd that he didn't remember this old friend's name, a college friend in his new memory. He walked, still bothered by his failure to remember his supposed best friend, the one with corn hair, somewhere between the shade of bleached blonde and another blonde he can't name- It was no secret that the great Doctor Azrael Hawke was no fan of fashion and its antics. A name came to him, "Tony." But his best friend Tony, the one who fell into some unnamed rank during Azrael's Great Depression, had no idea where he was now, or that he was still alive, eccentric Azrael, always with his funny ideas and rabid displays of awkwardness. "That's right, Tony, my old man!" He delighted in this false, but what appealed to him as true, memory.

He was distracted by the crunch of the autumn leaves that lay scattered over the misty grass of the morning. His shoes were getting wet, but he didn't mind. He liked taking walks when he can. The sound was a delicious crisp, the wind a pleasant chill.



Azrael looked at the delicate flake of snow that fell to his hand, "Winter's coming." But in all his years in Sunlit Tides, there had been no winter, "Well, except maybe that one odd day. Last time." And last time, Garrett came to see him- tried to meet him. Winter seemed a natural thing to him, he remembered building snowmen, creative, artsy, mundane and random inspirations for the snowman army he built with his best friend. The one who kept him busy when things started to get suspicious. "Suspicious?" He didn't know where these sentiments were coming from. All his life, as he remembers it now, he lived a boring, if not entirely dull childhood. "Ah," he walked, smiling to himself, as he resumed his stroll- one that he was advised not to take.

"You're not supposed to go out alone, or go out at all!" He remembers one of the old ladies from the grocery tell him. "Why not, Mrs Grantham?" "Why not? It's simple, honey! You can get into accidents! You don't want your pretty wife crying over what remains of you after a tragedy!" "Well, it's not nice of you to say that, Annie," said the grocer. "Well, darlin' if you ask me, I'm darn right. I'm going to consider my opinion, if I were you, sweet roll." The old lay pinched Azrael's cheek and left  in a trot. "Take my word for it!" The old lady added before she finally disappeared through the door.



"Well," Azrael dug his hands deep in his jacket's pockets. "I am getting married. I should probably get going." But Azrael walked a distance he doesn't remember taking. He hadn't thought of bringing his van because he wanted to stroll. And everything looked unfamiliar. He rubbed his eyes, hoping that by some stroke of luck or magic, he would recognize this place. "I hadn't walked that long, or far. What the-" He didn't have the chance to finish complaining, because someone had bumped into him, making him lost his balance and fall. "Sir, I'm sorry. Are you alright?" The man asked, holding out his hand to help Azrael up. "No, no. It's alright. I'm alright," Azrael slowly got up, looking at the grass, slowly fading and turning gray.



Then white- a familiar white. Tiles. "Oh, no." "Doc, are you alright?" The man asked again and he looked at him. "You!" Azrael blurted out. "Is something wrong, Doc?" The man asked again. "Ah? What?" Azrael looked at the man, then at his own hands and his feet. He looked at what he can muster seeing. He was in his hospital garb. He was at the hospital. "Ah, how long have I been here?" "Since the start of your shift? I bumped into you. Are you alright?" "Yes, I'm. I'm fine, Doctor, ah-" Azrael looked at the man's name plate, "Easter." "A? I call you "Doc" and you start calling me Doc, too? I was just trying it out. You've always called me Easter. Just Easter is fine, you know." Azrael looked at the man, confused. "I'm not sure I understand? This is the first time I've seen you?" "No jokes, man. I've had a long day." The corn-haired man patted his shoulder lightly and said, "Well, I gotta run. I've got a patient waiting for me. After that, I'm out." "Tony?" "Ah, no. Your wedding jitters are disturbing. It's not normal. Go see Aveline, why don't you? She can help you. I mean come on. You're family and all. All you have to do is walk straight and turn left. Well, not that you already know." Azrael doesn't know. He has no idea of what this man who calls himself Easter was talking about. And Aveline? Who the heck is Aveline? And as if Easter heard what he was thinking, the man said, "She's your sister. Man, are you disturbed."



Azrael gathered himself and walked to the direction Easter pointed. "It's not like I'm planning to meet this Aveline." He walked and walked in what seemed an endless corridor. "I'm dreaming," he said, but he kept walking. And for the second time he crossed paths with the man who calls himself Easter. "Doc, ah-" But the man only passed by him, as if he didn't hear, nor see Azrael. "Hey!" Nothing. Azrael turned to see the him, but he disappeared. "I'm really dreaming." He decided to look for this Aveline, opening every door he passed, only to see empty rooms- whitewashed, concealing every crack and gap in its wall, "Whitewashed." There were nothing inside the rooms. On it went, and Azrael started to panic. He wanted to wake from his dream, he wished it were. But he couldn't. He was trapped. There was no way out of this, except maybe finding this Aveline.



So, Azrael walked. Slowly, this time. Cautious of every step he took. But however hard he tried, he couldn't find her. There were no stairs, no elevators. "No left turns," he uttered. It was an endless maze of a straight corridor and empty doors. "Maybe, maybe I should explore those rooms." Because he didn't. He opens each door, finds them empty, and closes them. Now he's confused by all the doors he's closed and opened but can't distinguish. "So..." He sat on the floor, with his back against the wall. "This is worse than sleep paralysis," he tried to humor himself. "So, Doc, what will you do now?" He pulled his legs close to him, bent, and rested his chin on his knees. He closed his eyes. And he can't remember how long he's kept them so.

Tip.

Tap.

Tip.



Azrael dozed off, and was awakened by the light click and pat of shoes against the floor. He slowly opened his eyes and looked to the right. Nobody. He looked to the left. There was nobody. The corridor lights started to dim. "This is just a dream. A puzzle. I'm stressed. Yes, it's just stress," he consoled himself. He's never had dreams for a long time, only memories. He put his hands on his face and felt the oil and grease. He felt the sweat on his face, and he was disgusted.



"Love?" He heard a woman's voice. She was talking to him. He doesn't know why or how he thought so, but he knew. He knew that it was him she was calling.

"Aveline?" He said as he looked up, at the woman who stood beside him. But the woman didn't hear. Instead, she said, "Honey, why are you sitting there? Poor baby. Come here, stand up and let's go to my office." He stood up but it wasn't his hand the woman was holding. She was holding a little boy's hand.

"Nana. Where have you been? I looked all over for you!"



To his surprise, the boy looked down at him, Azrael felt a chill that was unlike earlier.



"I'm sorry, dear. Didn't I tell you to wait for me in my office? I promised you I'll be with you when you get your immunity shot taken."  "But you were taking so long! So I walked around a bit. And then I met this man, he had yellow hair that looked like corn. Or wheat. He was interesting. He's funny, I think. I like him." "Do you know this nice man's name?" "Ah, no. But he was wearing a gown, like you. Maybe he's a doctor here." "We'll see. Did you thank him?" "Yes, I thanked him! You taught me to say thank you, so I did!" "But I also taught you not to talk to strangers, didn't I?" "Yes. I'm sorry." "It's alright, dear. You're safe so that's enough. But promise me you won't wander around again." "Okay, Nan. I promise! I love you! I'm sorry!" The woman giggled. "Forgiven. Now, let's get you that shot." "But I already had it! "Oh, did you? Let me see-"



Azrael followed the two, as they turned left and reached a room at the far end. "They can't see me?" But he was as material as everything in this place. A man even bumped into him earlier, before he found himself getting up the hospital floor. "They really can't see me." He came in normally, opening the door, and found himself a seat on the couch. And then he stared at the boy's face, who started singing, "Every story has a beginning, a middle, and end... I'm stuck on chapter one." "Come on now, that story can wait." "Come on, Nan. I can't wait." "But this is no place to be story-telling, darling." "But you promised that you'll finish the story!" "Another time, dear. Another time." "Pssh. Not fair, Nan." "Don't 'pssh" me, Azrael. No matter how sweet you are when you do it." "But, Naaaan!" "Come, now. I still have things to finish. My shift will be over in a while." "Not fair," then he started singing again.

Azrael knew this kid. It was him. But the woman? "Nana?" Straight ahead, then turn left. "Go see Aveline, why don't you?" Azrael sat there for a while, staring at the younger him and the woman whom he thinks is the person the the corn-haired man calls Aveline, and his younger self calls Nana. He sat there staring, and trying to remember this scene. He tried remembering other days in the hospital- a different hospital. But he can't remember anything.



"Hello, Mister." The younger him sat next to him. "Are you lost?" He asked. "Ah, no. Hello, kiddo. What's your name?" He asked the boy, just to make sure if he heard her right, and that he was indeed seeing his younger self. "Azrael Hawke. But Nana told me not to talk to strangers. But you're wearing a gown, too. And you look decent, so I'll talk to you." Azrael wanted to laugh, this kid, his younger self had nerve, and a bit of an adult's arrogance, or it could be just his innocence. "You're not going to ask for my name?" "Ah, it's your prerogative, mister. I told you mine, so now it's up to you if you trust me enough to tell me yours." Where was this boy's sweetness to his 'Nana' gone to? He was an entirely different person to the present Azrael. "Well, I'm-" "Would you like me to tell you a story, Mister? Well, unless you have something to do. I understand if you left now." "Ahh-" Azrael figured it out. This boy was on defense. He wanted to shoo away a man who was invading his territory. The boy sees him as a potential threat. "You can call me A, kiddo." "That's funny, Nana calls me that, too." "Well, I guess we have a lot in common!" "Now that you say that, you look a lot like me. I'm better-looking, though." "Of course, you are!" A thought came to Azrael, Am I always this conceited?

"Your vanity is not something that most people can identify readily."



"Did you say something?" "No? I didn't say anything." Said the younger Azrael, who was now shuffling something from the counter. "Mister A, your nameplate." "What about it?" "Your nameplate says 'Hawke,' we have the same last name. I thought I was the only Hawke in Paradiso." Azrael's brows tied to a knot. "Paradiso?" "Yes, Isla Paradiso! Do you know other places called Paradiso, Mister?" "No." In fact, this is the first time I heard about this place. "I think Nana's pretty." "Who's Nana?" "Her." He pointed to the lady. "Why do you call her Nana?" "Because I can't call her Aveline? I'm not being rude, I'm sorry if I sound like that." "It's alright, kiddo. Is she your mother, or something?" "Well, if she were, I'd call her mum, but she's like a mum, too. She's really nice." "You must adore her." "That's no secret. She's the best girl in the world!" "Not Palmira?" Azrael carelessly commented. "Well, Palmira comes second. Oh, wait. Why- How do you know her?" "I can read minds." "Really? I can, too. Well. That's what I think." I was kidding. But was the younger him joking? He wouldn't know. And this was a dream. Never trust a dream. "How old are you, again?" "Eleven. Twelve. I don't know." Really?



"Hmm. that's odd. But what was this story you mentioned earlier?" "Ah, just a bed time story. I was two when I first heard about it." "Two? And you understood it?" "Yes. What do you remember from when you were two years old?" Unbelievable. This boy is an adult in a kid's body. Is this me? Is this really me? "I don't think I'm as smart as you, when I were younger." "That's fine. Would you still want to hear about the story? Don't you need to go see sick people?" "No, I'm on break, so I don't know why I'm even here." "Well, just keep your hands off my Nana." "Okay. Rest assured. Speaking of, where is she?" "Left. I don't know. I think she left." Without us noticing? And she acted like she didn't see me. "Dreams are complex, Mister. I have them a lot. But I don't know what they mean. And I always dream about people I think I know. And people I know, that I don't know."

Why are you saying this? Azrael thought to himself.

"My dreams, they tell me things. Things that happened in the past, even before I was born. Things that I've already forgotten. My dreams are beautiful. Nana told me my dreams are beautiful." "You talk to her about your dreams?" "Sometimes. But she doesn't know everything. And, most of my dreams don't mean anything to me. And dreams, well. I can't really trust them, you know? But Nana trusts my dreams." "Maybe she just likes how your dreams are so different?" "How do you know that, Mister?" "I just think. I sort of know it." "Well, I like listening to her stories about dragons. And wizards and witches. They were fun to listen to. But I think they're real. I just hadn't told Nan what I think about them." "Can you really read minds?" "I can. You don't believe me?" "Well, can you tell me what I'm thinking of now?" "You want to go home." "It's that obvious?" "No, I didn't even need to read your mind. Your thoughts were just lying out in the open." It was a familiar line. "You know, I think I remember that." "Which, Mister?" "Thoughts just lying out in the open." "You're very careless, Mister." So are you. You're me, kid. "How come your Nana doesn't see me?" "Oh, I think she saw you. She just didn't want to talk to you." "Why not? You said she's nice." "She's nice, but not that nice. Or, if you want to feel better, then, she didn't see you." "Oh, right. That's possible. But we're in a dream, aren't we?" "Dream? This isn't just a dream, Mister." Azrael flinched, and said, "You know me, don't you?"



The younger Azrael grabbed a book from the shelf. "This was supposed to be just a dream, you know, your usual dreams. My usual dreams- about the past lives of the Hawkes. But then, you look like you need more than the usual dose. You've become resistant to them, Doc. And I think you know what I mean." "Are you sure you're just eleven or twelve, or somewhere in that bracket?" "I'm not normal. You're not normal. Here." The boy placed the book in front of Azrael, "Open it. Open it, anytime. But not now."

Azrael looked at the book. The cover was different, apparently. But the book gave him a feeling of familiarity. He knows he's seen this book at least once. Maybe he'd forgotten about it but he knows that this wasn't the first time.

"Why not?" He asked, and continued, "And how do I get back to this place?" "Oh, you will get back to this place, Mister. You will. I know it." "What's the book about?" "Well, first things first. Nana. She. She's your sister." My sister? "She's my sister, too. She's a Hawke. But all her adulthood she lived as Enzalde Wintergreen, because she's running away. And she's protecting you- us." "From whom?" "The Order. Our family's spent years running away from these people." "Then why didn't she change your-ah, my- name?" "Because she underestimated them." "Blunt," Azrael uttered. Yet he still didn't believe him. Never trust dreams. "Palmira's nice. She's really sweet, too," the younger Azrael said as he looked at him. "You, I- I grew up with Palmira?" "You don't know? Yeah, you don't know. Yes." "But, I remember-" Azrael didn't finish, he let his younger self fill in the blanks. "You remember wrong. Everything you remember is a lie. Your family, the tragedy- well, ours is a different tragedy; your meeting with Palmira. Even your birthday is a lie." Here I am listening to a kid telling me that my life is a lie. How tasteful. "How about we do a pop quiz, Doc? About you." "Shouldn't you be playing with kids your age?" "My friends are adults, except Tony. And Palmira. But you're all adults now. Haha. This is a dream, remember. Well, it's not just some dream. And that book-" the younger him paused to look at the book, "That isn't just some book."



"Ahh," Azrael scratched the back of his head, and later messed his hair in frustration. How long till I break free from this dream? "Basics come first. Name?" "Name?" "Your name. I should know how much you don't know about yourself." "Shouldn't you already know?" "This is a protocol Nan came up with, why and why I wouldn't know, but let me tell you a secret. I've always slept here, in you. Should the need arise, I'm here to talk sense into you. I clean up, so I need to identify the errors first."

Azrael was confused. This kid- his younger self- was talking big. Worse, he was telling him what to do and what not to. Don't trust dreams. You said it yourself, he looked at his younger self.

"Then why did Easter point me to Aveline?" "I like playing my games, Mister. I just wanted to play. It was fun while it lasted." "I didn't know I was cruel at such a young age. And who is Easter anyway?" "You were secretly cruel. You were so kind, so nice. So... understanding. Me, I'm you. The adult Azrael, trapped in a child's body. But it's all in your mind. And Easter is an old friend. Nan doesn't trust him, and she was right not to. But I really liked him. Well, you really liked him." "You're confusing me." "So, what's your name?" So, we're really doing this? "Azrael Hawke." "Middle name?" "Is that even needed?" "I asked, so I think it is." "You're unreasonable." "Thanks, self." "So, if I grew up without the things that happened happening, leading to the me now, I'd be like you? Bitter and cynical?" "You'd be a gentleman. An honest gentleman. Like your grandfather. Well, what's your middle name?" "Aiyoo! Witcher." "Oh!" The younger Azrael's eyes brightened, "I'm surprised. She let you keep your name. She's like Nan, then. Underestimated them." "Are you talking about Palmira?" "Yes. I adore her, you love her. Nan did good. Planting me in you." "But you're me?" "Yes, how many times do we have to go over this?" "This is sick." "Twisted. I know. Doesn't that make it all the more fun?" "I don't know. I don't like where this is going." "You don't have to like it. You only need to know." "What? That Palmira kept my name as it is? This is all abstract to me, and probably will be until you actually start getting serious about telling me things." Azrael felt his patience leaving him. He was uncomfortable and irritated, trapped in some dream that refuses to end.

"I told you didn't I? This isn't just some dream, Azrael Witcher Hawke. I'm you and you're me. Now, if you refuse to accept that, fine by me. Fine with me. I'm just doing my job, the way Nan wants me to." His younger self had command in his voice. Azrael felt his seriousness. "Okay. Okay. Now what?" He looked helplessly at this boy that looked back at him. "Now you listen. First let me tell you, that I have my limitations. Nan planted me in you, along with memories and theories, as well as the Hawke family's history. Every bit of everything." "Sounds like a convenient hard disk. Do you come with picture projection, too?" It was rhetorical, and the younger Azrael ignored his irresponsible comment, "I know you're tired and you want to get out of this dream. But give me time. There are at least some things that you need to know before I let you off, before I let you go back to your fantastical world of make-believe." The boy started to pace around the room, "As I was saying, I have all these information, but there's a limit." "What would that be?" "The memories stop at your- erm, our- passage to adolescence." "So, you looking like that isn't just some- uh, forget it. Do continue."



"First, Palmira. How are things with her?" "I'm marrying her." "Oh, I approve. Well, that's from my love-struck point of view." "You said your memories stopped at my passage to adolescence, so why do you know that it was Palmira who kept my name?" "Nan. She knows things. And I know what she knows, but the how's and why's. I don't know everything. I just know that somehow, somewhere and sometime in Palmira's childhood, Nan was able to make things happen." "Are you saying she's involved in this memory hoax?" "No. I think, it's Palmira's own desire to protect you. But she could have done better and changed both your names. Maybe, she was actually hoping to be found? By whom, I don't know. But I'm sure it's not The Order." "What is this order that you keep saying?" "Mayfair." "What?" "They're- wait. Before anything, I know that you're a man of science now. And that you probably won't believe these things, especially with you thinking how dreams shouldn't be trusted. And whether or not you believe me, just listen. Listen first. Maybe ask afterwards, but don't rebuff them as lies or figurative. None of what I'll be saying is figurative, unless I say otherwise." "I like your humor, kid." "As I was saying, this order is, well, they call themselves The Mayfair Witches." "A cult?" "Occult, but not necessarily a cult. They pride themselves as pursuers of rare, even forgotten, lore and related shenanigans." "You said witches. You mean they're all women?" "Yes, and no. Yes, that those who hold position, ranks, and have voice in the order are women." "And the men?" "Servants. Hirelings. They do all the dirty work while the women sit around ordering them." "You sound bitter." "I am bitter. I didn't know then, that Matteo and Theo were both from the order." "Wait, who are they?" "Matteo. Remember his name. Matteo Torres is Nan's steward and husband. Well, he's supposed to be the Witchers' steward but he fell in love and the rest is history." "And you're saying that Aveline- Nan, you're saying that she's my sister." "Yeah." "I find this hard to comprehend. It's all so-" "Unbelievable? I know. Watcher knows how much I hated that guy. I thought he was hurting Nan, you know, emotionally. The concept of violence never really came up to me, but it's not like there was. I really just thought that he was playing with Nan's feelings. Now, now that I carry all of her memories and yours, I can't help but feel guilty. I should have tried to ask properly. But Nan was almost never around during those times."

There was a pang of remorse in both Azraels' hearts. The younger Azrael sat on Aveline's chair and gestured for Azrael to sit on the patient's chair. Azrael was amused- remorseful, but amused.

"As for Theo, did Palmira never say anything?" "Her father's name is Teodor. I know that much. I also know that she isn't fond of him. But he's passed recently. And she never called him Theo, but the only Theo I can think of is a man named Teodor. Can't be Matteo, can it?" "Nan called him Matty. Funny, really." "Right. So, is he?." "Theo is Teodor Medina. Palmira's father, and the order's personal guinea pig. He did the researches, sure, and that made him the guinea pig. The order did make sure to fund his researches though, and hush people who need to be hushed if anything, say, uneventful happened." "What kind of researches?" "Experiments. Enhancing." "Technology?" "Genetic engineering. And no, it has nothing to do with corn and wheat or rice." "Then?" "Sim experiments." "That's- What kind of experiments, exactly?" "I'll leave your imagination to it. Just know that it isn't anything related to what most doctors pursue, all the "for better health campaigns." Azrael was aghast. "He does, well, did it like all you people do- animal testing. Even plant testing. Until all of it looked promising enough to advance to the next stage." "The people he used?" "Ah, he had his own." "What?" "Drones, I don't know. That's what Nana called them. I mean, that's the information Nan put in me. Wait, there's another name. Fiends- beings not entirely man, dolls, robots, everything and anything. They gave him fiends." "This is all hard to stomach." "But it doesn't end there." "Is it important that I know?" "Yes. He did his experiments on them, too." "Them- you mean to himself and Palmira?" "Yeah." "You seem enthusiastic about this." "Hell, yeah! You're finally realizing things!" "But this is nothing to celebrate about." "You'd rather not know?" Yeah, I'd rather not know.



Azrael didn't know what to say. Until finally, he asked, "How does Aveline, well, Nan, know all of this?" "Theo confided in her. But she also thinks that he didn't tell her everything. He told her enough to protect her, but not everything. He was careful not to talk to Nan so much, because it would attract the order's attention. Eventually, they caught up and found out." "What does Palmira know?" "She knows nothing. Except maybe that you're like an artifact." "So Theo?" "Theo died misunderstood by her only daughter." "She should know." "Maybe. Maybe not. Didn't you say you're getting married?" "Yes." "Nan and Matteo got married in a secret place. It was the only safe place in Paradiso. Mum lent a had." "You mean our mother?" "Yeah." "I grew up in Paradiso?" "Yeah. Before that you were in Bridgeport." "The infamous city?" "Spot on." "How am I an artifact?" Azrael hadn't hoped for an answer." "You're the heir. You alone inherited both the Hawke and the Mayfair blood." "But you said the Mayfairs are hounding us? Is it because of my blood?" "Yes. Because you are a true Mayfair." "You mean to say that, the order? Do explain. I'm not sure I get this."

"The order is old. Really old. Dating to generations before great-grandfather. But then again, great-grandfather lived centuries long. I said before that the order prided itself as pursuers of rare knowledge. And your mother- our mother- is the only true Mayfair, until you." "Was her name Helen?" "Hysteria. Your father, Abaddon." "Palmira named our boy Abaddon." "It means destruction. I'm surprised she's still alive." "Hey, that's cruel." "No, honestly. She gave birth to a male Hawke. Witches die. So many witches died before great-grandmother Esther." Azrael was puzzled. Everything was making less sense. "The order named itself after Hysteria Witcher- the fabled Mayfair Witch. She never had a name, she was a myth and a legend to everyone but the few who truly sought her. But still, she eluded them. And the order, The Mayfair Witches worshiped her, naming their organization after her- after a name that simnanity decided for her. But really. Hysteria Witcher was nameless until she was swooned over by great-grandfather." "But you said great-grandmother's name is Esther, and that I'm the only true Mayfair next to Hysteria Witcher." "Things happened. A lot of things happened. I'm pretty sure you'll remember the story from one of Nan's. You'll remember."



There was a story about the great Hawke losing his mind, that eventually cost him his sight. But it was in Azrael's locked chest, somewhere.

"Why not just tell me?" "In your current state, telling you more things would only seem senseless. What's important is you know these people. Matteo Torres, still alive, I think. And because my memories are limited, I can't tell you where he is now. Teodor Medina, as you say, is dead. He applied his experiments on himself and Palmira. Never forget that." "You're making me doubt Palmira's identity." "No. I'm not asking you to, nor do I wish you to. You love her, you have a baby. That's the important thing." "We have twins. Anathema." "By Watchers! Twins! Oh, no." "What?" "I can't believe this. Remember when I said I had theories in me, too?" "Yeah, why?" "I- it's hard to say. And it's too early for that to happen." "For what to happen?" "No. You don't need any more to confuse you. So I'm going to tell you about the people you should know, let me continue. Please." Azrael was reluctant, but he knew he didn't have a choice in the matter. "Okay. Go on." "Great-grandfather. Zarall. He was the great Hawke wizard. Witches and spellcasters in general adored him, admired him. But he was a lone wolf. He preferred his solitude to company until he met Hysteria. And then lost her, and then met great-grandmother Esther." "There are still so many things that I need to know, and so many more things that I don't believe. That I'm occult? I'm the most normal that I ever know!" "Well, if that's the case, Palmira did a great job." "Erasing my memories?" "Protecting you."

The two breathed, tried to grasp things that weren't really there. I'm not supposed to trust dreams. But all of these things and all of these names. They didn't make sense, but he was sure he believed them. He bit his lower lip hard enough for it to bleed. This is just a dream. But he felt the sting in his mouth.



"There are more, aren't there? Grandmother, grandfather. Father. Mother. And my siblings, if I had any more other than Aveline. You're right. My life is a lie." "But not the love, I suppose. Cheesy, but as true as heck." "Watch your mouth, kiddo." "Heh. Yeah." "So, the others?" "Grandmother Shannan. She loved grandfather Raziel. A lot, but she hated your father. Well, not really. She hated herself. Hysteria-mum- helped her. They both knew that granny was being used by the order to get into the bloodline, like great-grandmother did. Then, they really hadn't cared that much about the Mayfair Witch. They were too bent on seizing the great Hawke's power for themselves. Greedy women. They were possessed by demons that lusted for power, turning them into demons themselves. That's figurative, by the way." "Hah, I appreciate the little joke. But I don't think I can laugh at stuff like these." "You know these things from your dreams, Azrael Hawke. You have these memories in you, waiting to break free." "And then our parents." "Yeah, Abaddon and Hysteria. Mum sought dad, to protect Hawkes from falling prey to the order." "But hadn't they already tapped into the bloodline?" "Tapped, yes. But they haven't figured out how to extract the power from a Hawke without killing him unnecessarily, because they prided in their "elegant" approach to matters such as these, too." "And the Hawkes, are all males?" "Yes. The witch dies with the birth of the next Hawke. That's what was supposed to happen to great-grandmother. But great-grandfather died instead." "How?" "They found a way. Know that among witches, warlocks, wizards, only a Hawke feeds on life force. That's why he continues to grow more powerful, and great-grandfather was the most powerful, enough to catch the order's attention. And there is no prior "why" to this matter. I don't know why a Hawke feeds on life force. Nan doesn't know. But great-grandmother and the order found out. It was all great-grandmother's scheme really. The order just jumped into the limelight and took all the credit." "So, how?" "Simple really. Marriage."

Mundane. Ceremonies can range from simple and discreet to grand. But marriage? Marriage to seal the fate of women in this sense? "That's a little overrated." "Marriage is a contract." "I'm aware." "Then there are vows." "Yes, surely." "Well, in nature's own course and definition of things, to be exact, Fate- as in the entity, the one who governs, marriage is a contract. And getting married to a Hawke meant submitting to the terms of the contract." "That explains why Palmira is still alive." "Yeah, because other than her not being a witch, I don't know, man. All the more reason that she shouldn't be alive after that birth." "She knew. That's why she kept refusing my proposal despite the years we've been together." "Do you feel betrayed?" "Yes. But I wouldn't know what to do if I lost her, either." "That also means that Abaddon is feeding on your life force." "What?" "Why are you surprised? Why do you think I said great-grandfather died, instead?" "But my boy is normal." "Normal, really? You wouldn't know that." "My first boy is also normal, but he died in his sleep."

The younger Azrael was dumbfounded.



There were no theories nor memories, nor knowledge regarding this matter. A Hawke male dead, a Hawke male powerless." "Listen, let's both figure this out. First. The Hawke power is inherited." "Yes, I remember." "That this power grows as the generation proceeds." "As you've said." "And that the power is passed onto the next Hawke." "I understand." "So, now. Also know that there are skips to this." "Skips?" Great-grandfather died, passing the power to the next Hawke, grandfather Raziel. But grandfather didn't die. Granny did, that means the power stayed in him-" "Which means that father had nothing." "He had nothing. Grandfather died after you were born. Fate couldn't afford to go through the lengthy process of passing through every generation-" "Since I'm already there." "But know, that you were a Mayfair before you became a Hawke." "Simply because father had no drop of power in him?" "All Hawkes have power. But only one in every generation inherits the raw and true meaning of being a Hawke." "And what's that?" "Being a keeper of dragons."

Dragons. Azrael remembers a story about dragons.

"What do you mean by, "I'm a Mayfair before I became a Hawke?'" "After grandfather's death, your Mayfair blood was infused with Hawke blood, I don't mean literal blood. Spirit, energy, ki. I don't know. Whatever people call them. You're both a Hawke and a Mayfair. That makes you a prized hunt for the order." "I don't like that you're making it sound like I'm being hunted." "Oh, but you are. I know this is brash but I should tell you about your brothers." "So, it's not just Aveline, after all. And I didn't have a twin sister, either. Heh." "Garrett and Carver. You were triplets. Garrett being the eldest, and Carver the youngest." "That makes me the problem-child, doesn't it?" "In a different sense, it does." They both laughed weakly. "All the male Hawkes but you survived the fire." "So, it wasn't a car accident. And I suppose the fire wasn't an accident, either?" "It was an accident. But them coming for your family wasn't. Things just got out of hand, and a fire broke out, burning the house down, making the adolescent Nan run for our lives, and leaving mum to stall for them. She survived, of course. And then Nan spent her years wandering town after town to adulthood, and then she met Theo. So on, and so on. We moved to Paradiso, and the hunt started again." "This is all so hard to put together." "Oh, but in time you will." "Palmira's going to die, isn't she?" "Inevitable. Effective immediately, if I must say. Because she's been stalling, you can think of it as a sudden impact. Time takes its toll." "I'll lose Palmira on the day of our wedding?" "It depends on how much time she cheated." "But I'll lose her. And that's the point."



"What about Anathema and Abaddon?" "We'll figure things out. Sorry for ruining your awaited wedding. It'll be hard marrying her knowing what will happen." "She looks at Anathema strangely sometimes. Like there's fear. For her, of her. I don't know." "You've family to support you. They're around. Somewhere." "Thanks, kiddo. None of the things you told me makes me happy. But I'm glad." "And by the way, thanks, I like my humor, too. But Garrett's is better, even as a toddler." "Don't tell me you're not the only image corrector, personality adjuster, or blast from my past? Whatever you deem convenient and appropriate." "Whoever comes around, will come around."

"And I have magic?" "Tch, you just realized?" the younger Azrael snorted, "You've gone a long way, and it's the wrong way."

The two Azrael's were exhausted. "Here, do you remember Thujane?" "Oh, a little bear witch. Thujane. Have you picked a gender?" "It didn't matter then. It shouldn't matter now." The younger Azrael set down Thujane in the middle of the couch and grabbed himself a book. Azrael couldn't help but let the feelings linger. And in that short moment, sleep preyed him in his dream.



And with new feelings bound to linger, he slipped away slowly to continue his morning stroll. He wants to forget everything he learned when he wakes up.

At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline melancholy_anju

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 29- Linger
« Reply #92 on: July 27, 2014, 04:55:35 PM »
Oh this answered so much and left me with so many more questions at the same time!
I'm more curious than ever what were the mysterious events surrounding little Gabriel's death. Not to mention what will become of Palmira's and Azrael's fates. It's unbelievable how twins that cute can cause so many problems.

Offline Nutella

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 29- Linger
« Reply #93 on: January 16, 2015, 08:13:58 AM »
I'm moving this to the Stories Graveyard due to inactivity. cainspath, you can revive this story by contacting a moderator.

Online Trip

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 29- Linger
« Reply #94 on: March 26, 2015, 10:59:52 AM »
At the author's request, this thread is being moved back to the Land of the Living. Welcome back!
No respect, no chance, cease and desist when I chant-

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Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 23- First Kiss
« Reply #95 on: March 26, 2015, 06:34:59 PM »
Oh this answered so much and left me with so many more questions at the same time!
I'm more curious than ever what were the mysterious events surrounding little Gabriel's death. Not to mention what will become of Palmira's and Azrael's fates. It's unbelievable how twins that cute can cause so many problems.

Wow. This story hasn't been touched in a while. It'll be discussed soon, Like Palmira soon. (I don't know what that means, but you'll find out later.  ;)) For now, I'll be uploading the new chapters incrementally. I think that maybe everybody needs time to erm, let everything sink in.  ;D

At the author's request, this thread is being moved back to the Land of the Living. Welcome back!

Thank you!


I can't hold a weighted heart,
Gotta let it out from the start


First Kiss
Close your eyes for Ryan O'Shaughnessy

Every story has a beginning, a middle, and end
I'm stuck on chapter one
There's no substitute for losing a friend


The sun would soon spill blood and cast it all over Sunlit Tides. But the sun would withdraw and retire to rest, so the moon could glide, and give us a beautiful night for a wedding.

For now, it was a cheerful bluish white, painted with some green and yellow.



And mounds of earth, and a couple whites.



Every story has a beginning, a middle, and end
And Iím on chapter two
Cause you never know whatís waiting around the bend


He stood nervously as he waits for his bride to walk down an aisle of stern cold stone and hardness, with its chilling calloused smoothness. Rain just came and passed. And he was anxious that the rain might come back and ruin the ceremony. "Well, Gabby. I'm marrying your Mum!" Quickly, he dug his hand into his pocket and tightly held onto the pair of mitts for the winter that little Gabby never got to see, deep in his pocket. He always carried this memento for luck and consolation, but it was the first time that he felt needing all of its power.



There was still some time to wait.

For her, for him.

For the blue-eyed darling who sang to his dead child.



And for another woman, with gaping wings tattooed on her back.



But the trees wouldn't wait, the wind. The trees swayed slightly, and the leaves rustled. The wind run past, and the bushes blushed. Soon, the guests were warm in anticipation as they looked at the bride walk past them, with her bare feet brushing over the coolness of the stone ensemble. She was insistent on walking the aisle barefoot.



And she was smiling.
The trees were bleeding.
She was ready to seal her fate.



He forced a smile, as he looked at Palmira walk slowly, past the few people they trusted and thought they knew.

Carver was there, in a delicate custom-dress Emmanuelle got for his body. "From Barney's." Carver repeated the inscription from the card. He was having jitters and a near-mental breakdown. He didn't want to come to his brother's wedding to see the bride die in front of everyone. He didn't want to see the order seizing that moment of weakness like some golden opportunity, but he knew better. The order was beyond escape at this point. He didn't want to see Garrett and his personality malfunction. Carver denies missing his brothers, but his feelings and what was happening didn't match. Carver just wasn't ready. But here he was sitting among the crowd, in his mortal female body that he's learned to love, waiting for the curtains to be drawn, and for the act to fall into motion.

It didn't change the fact that he didn't want any of it to happen.
It didn't change the fact that it was happening.
But he smiled, he smiled using the lips he wasn't sure he could call his.



And Quillaia, with those peering blue eyes, unmistakably blue and soulful. She was there for her mother's brother. She was there for the twins. Just like Aveline, Quillaia knew what she was bound to do, and she was determined to undo her mother's mistakes.



Garrett could smell Carver. It wasn't his brother's scent, but he learned it from his multiple visits of the residence. It was certainly a woman's scent. But it was still his brother, their stubborn little brother. He was burning with the desire to snatch them away, but that would only warrant the order to chase them to greater lengths. He didn't want that, he wanted things to end. Even if that meant seeing his brother lose the love of his life.

Garrett looks at Azrael and surveys his brother's posture, his shift in movements, his body language. Garrett could smell the depth of Azrael's regret. "He already knows. But he's doing it anyway." Garrett felt Azrael's regret, he can smell how it reeks out of him. He could smell it, and he may never forget that smell.

He was there, but he couldn't risk making himself visible.

Palmira smiles at her groom. She could feel her tears beading. She knows what she's risking by doing this, but she'd been using Azrael's life to live. She'd been letting Anathema feed on Azrael's life force. It was time that she gave Anathema what was rightfully hers- despite what may befall the world. Palmira wants to save Azrael, not even he could stop her . She knew that only Azrael could end this.



She smiles at the thought that her swan song would be a beautiful wedding and a kiss.
She smiles at the dream that this will become when she looks up the sky for her farewell.
She can only wait for Azrael's time to cross, and wish...

Iím always wishing itís you
Iím always wishing itís you


Azrael took a few steps down to reach for his bride.
They walked closer to their doom, step by step, with each other's fingers intertwined.



She looked beautiful. She is beautiful. "I love you," he mouthed. Palmira smiled in response, "I love you, too." "Do you regret marrying me?" "Do you?" They exchanged their goodbyes in their smiles.



They nested their heads together, and felt each other's breath.

Azrael kissed the top of her head. "Marry me, Palmira. Marry me." "Aren't I already?" "Marry me in this life, and the next life. And the life after that. Marry me until we can be together." "Haha, I'll try." Palmira's tears stained Azrael's shoulder.



They danced to the tune of their melancholy, and listened to their own silent sobs.



And vows.



Did you take the time to close your eyes
And place your lips to mine


It was time the groom kissed the bride.

Place your lips to mine
When you move in for the first kiss
When you move in for the first kiss
Just make sure you don't miss




Palmira looked at Azrael's eyes. "I'll wait for you."
She reached to touch his lips and kiss them.
She closed her eyes.

Keep your eyes closed
'Cause every story has a beginning,
A middle,
And end



I hope you hadn't forgotten about Carver from Hawke Revival. S/he came, it's Azrael's wedding after all. S/he had a total make-over. You'll know why in the next chapter.



Also, you might wonder why all the shots are close-up. I just hate it when Sims show up for weddings looking like they just came out of who-knows-where. For those who are curious, while I didn't bother so much to take the photos, here are some with the other guests. Anyway, I hate them. Did I just say it again? I hate them.





PS. I'd love for these sims to show up all wacky in Hawke Revival, but not in Blood. They destroyed me. *cries     
PPS. How sims kiss at their wedding just don't work for me.  :-X
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline LivvieLove

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 30- First Kiss
« Reply #96 on: March 26, 2015, 11:26:45 PM »
Welcome back! So glad to see this story back... and boy did I tear up at this one... beautifully written, cainspath. I'm going to go over and ponder my whole life right now with sadness.

PS. Carver is looking good.
PPS. Those silly sims and their terrible wedding dress-code etiquette.
PPPS. Palmira looked stunning. Period. Holy crap.
PPPPS. WHY DID AZRAEL GO THROUGH WITH IT?!

I'm done with the PPPPPSing now.

Offline cainspath

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 30- First Kiss
« Reply #97 on: March 27, 2015, 11:05:21 AM »
Welcome back! So glad to see this story back... and boy did I tear up at this one... beautifully written, cainspath. I'm going to go over and ponder my whole life right now with sadness.

Thank you for the welcome and the appreciation!  :) I've been itching to do something about Blood but couldn't for a lo(ooo)ng while. Can't say I'm not glad at having you moved, though: I postponed writing this (chapter) more than once because I couldn't control my, erm, emotions. Palmira was one of the key characters and I adore her.

About the sadness part, ah, I was going to say don't, but okay. So long as you'll have enough to compare happiness with.  ;)

PS. Carver is looking good.
PPS. Those silly sims and their terrible wedding dress-code etiquette.
PPPS. Palmira looked stunning. Period. Holy crap.

PS. I'm obsessing with Carver's vessel. She's a total doll, but I hate how she smiles so much. I didn't want her pouting and I-can't-figure-what emotion for any of the shots, but you know. She looks like that. I'm glad I found a work-around. Also, s/he would like to thank Pralensims for his/her eyeshadow (or eyeliner), Ms Blu for his/her tattoo, and Sky for his/her hair.

PPS. Sometimes I'm tempted to just give them that make-over, but I'm not paid to do that. Darn.

PPPS. Palmira would like to give thanks to BEO for her gown. She didn't need any make-up. I also probably need to put up a proper photo of the the couple, but maybe at another time.

PPPPS. WHY DID AZRAEL GO THROUGH WITH IT?!

I'm done with the PPPPPSing now.

Coming soon.
At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

Offline KRae

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Re: Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 30- First Kiss
« Reply #98 on: March 27, 2015, 11:01:45 PM »
Wow, I just read this whole story over the last couple of days. At times I tears rolling down my face. Thank you.

Offline cainspath

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Blood of the Mayfair: Chapter 31- Skyfall
« Reply #99 on: April 09, 2015, 08:51:25 AM »
Wow, I just read this whole story over the last couple of days. At times I tears rolling down my face. Thank you.

Thank you, KRae! I'm glad that you appreciate the story! I put a lot of love and a bit of hatred and frustration into this story, so thank you!  :)



This is the end
Hold your breath and count to ten
Feel the earth move and then
Hear my heart burst again


Skyfall
But it's only the beginning, Adele

Emmanuelle walked.

The walk was long and lazy, as that of the setting day, and the slow orange horde of fluff creeping slowly like a romantic ruse on the naked sand of Sunlit Tides.



But the sky was becoming darker. The last string of orange had left its horde and drew away as it allowed the black to seep into its old place. The air around the Hale residence died. The water stopped teasing and tickling the sand. Everything was still, but the moon was slowly rising to its pedestal.

Emmanuelle walked, with the sole of her slippers brushing and gritting against the sand. She liked the sound of friction.





Ding-dong. Carver Hawke living as Karela Hale was anxious, the way Azrael Hawke had been anxious in his dream.

Ding-dong. Carver sat still, frozen, almost. He had always believed that the invisible weirdo was just some voice his mother casted on him, not someone.



Ding-dong. Emmanuelle was growing impatient, but she had to act as normally as any normal person should when faced with visiting a family who doesn't seem to care for the relentless cry of the doorbell, additionally, in this case, walking through a door. Even before that, pressing the doorbell repeatedly until it gets beaten or dead.



She walked away. She didn't have to stand idly by the hideous door that revealed the inside of the house. The doorbell, the contraption could be manipulated.

She walked away.
Ding-
It was Kiwi who opened the door, "Good evening, Lady Grantham." It was a name Emmanuelle took, after finding out the number of Grantham's in this town. "You were here for your sculpture-?" Kiwi had been taught never to speak names, because he knew that names were dangerous, that the wind has ears.

"Yes, and I'm here. It looks like age got the better of you, Mr Hale. Is it time for dinner yet?" Lousy. But Emmanuelle thought of the food that she could smell cooking in the kitchen. "Ah, yes. You could have dinner with us if you pleased." It was a lousy exchange altogether, but Kiwi had to give in to that stupid episode. "Won't you come down to enjoy the breeze with me? Living by the ocean is such a marvelous thing!" What an old-ish person to say, she thought to herself. Well, she was old. What followed was less guarded, Emmanuelle sent Kiwi masked words, words that meant nothing important to anyone's ears but its receiver.

"Brr! It sure is cold in here!"

She wore that, in this weather. At this time of the day. But she could warm herself. Emmanuelle liked to act.



She would be found to speak differently to people, to Carver most especially. And it would appear later, to the rest of the Hale family. "I'm truly sorry for not being quick enough-" "You best stop apologizing if you don't want to get zinged on that spot." Emmanuelle sounds comfortable enough. "Yes, yes. Please come in. Welcome. Welcome." But they stood rooted to where they were. Emmanuelle showed no hint of moving,  but she knew that Carver was sitting in front of the dead television, with her back to the door. Emmanuelle could feel Carver's tension rising, his pulse beating. She didn't need Garrett's senses, she relied on whispers, sounds, feelings. "She's terribly tense, isn't she?" Emmanuelle joked. Unlike Hysteria, Emmanuelle's jokes made more sense.

"She hasn't slept for weeks after that, I'm afraid. She hasn't been herself, lately." "The love keeps growing," whether Kiwi knew what she did, he responded with silence. Emmanuelle respected it. "Thank you," Kiwi whispered. But Emmanuelle kept pushing, "Karela. Carver. How do you address the Mistress' son?" "With love. Now, still with so much love. But differently. With restraint, with sadness. With pain. I've become my lover's guardian. The natural order of things are messed up, aren't they?" It was a bitter joke, and it didn't answer Emmanuelle's question. On good days, Emmanuelle might have laughed at it. Kiwi did, but it faded as soon as his eyes turned to look at the shadowed sand.

"You've aged." It didn't warrant a response.

Kiwi was tired. It wasn't just the years that passed him by. It was everything.
His face was grim.

"I, ah, we best go inside separately. Thank you, Hale." She offered courtesy that she learned from observing mortals all her life. She got away. Kiwi replied with his own "Thank you" and went hurriedly to the kitchen.



"You." Carver's eyes were on the feet of the woman that is now his body, "You're really here." "You haven't even heard my voice." Carver had. He listened. How much he managed to understand wasn't Emmanuelle's concern, "How can you be so sure?" "I am now." "You don't even turn to look at me." Carver didn't show any intention to look at her. "I'm waiting for the banter to start," Emmanuelle hoped for him to break the tension and the awkwardness. "No."

"Sigh." Emmanuelle wanted to make things less of what she had anticipated it to become, which is what was happening now. "You're here for my brother, aren't you." "Oh, a telly! Can we open this one?" Emmanuelle's delight was infused with sarcasm." "What?" Carver was both confused and infuriated, he rose "Are you kidding me? This is no time for your-" "Amaze-balls! You can literally sit here all day and just watch all these creatures repetitively crossing the screen from side to side. Do you ever sit down to watch the telly all day? Oh no," Her voice lost its enthusiasm, "You don't." "Of course, I don't! Unlike you, who lies around in bed all day, I actually have to live properly!" "You're darn right," Emmanuelle didn't even deny it, "Except, how do you live properly?" Carver stared, he was past irritated. "You're finally looking at me." Carver averted his eyes. "Or not."



Carver sat back, "You easily forget what you're here for." "Oh, you know, just making sure you're comfortable." "You got comfortable by yourself, in my house." "Does that make you uncomfortable? Haven't you heard of 'What's yours is mine?'" "It's the other way around, and no. You irritate me." Emmanuelle knew it was true, but she had more to say, "So, when are you getting married? Don't you think it's about time for the second one?" "I didn't realize you were here to gossip." "I gossip for a living." "You were here for very pressing matters?" "It doesn't hurt to slack off a little." "Not if my brother's life is on the line."

"Fine. I'm here on my own liberty." "Are you? That's not the easiest thing to believe." "Ah, but you don't have a choice in the matter." "Then, which ones?" "The ones about your brothers. The ones about your role in this, the ones about The Order, the-" "My brothers? What do you mean, my brothers?" Carver was getting angry, "Garrett is dead. And don't bring up this stranger, Gale to me."

"Where do you want to start?" "Answer me, -" Carver didn't know how to call her. He'd called her invisible weirdo since he first remembers. "Ah, don't second-guess yourself." She paused, "Call me what you wish. For now. Sit down, why don't you?" Carver did as she asked. "Garrett is alive. Was dead, but is alive. The Dragon Queen interfered, pitied him, loved him, reared him. And like your mother, succumbed to her eternal yearning, going as far as reviving his soul. She taught him things that even he shouldn't know. That's why he's here, too." "How- what? How long has he-?" He couldn't finish it, Emmanuelle didn't need to hear the last of it. "A while. He wants to save Azrael, and he wants to see you." "To laugh at this pathetic state?" "You. You have a man who loves you, and a family that adores you. In the thousands of years that I've lived, I cry at every instant man calls himself pathetic when he's not." She looked at Carver, who was angry, not with what she said, but at himself. If only he'd done what he should have a long time ago- learned the arcane magic, he'd be less helpless. "Stop it. What you're doing now is pathetic." "You expect me to laugh? To agree and celebrate?" There was no hate in his voice, but he meant every word of it. "I expect you to act."

"Where's my mother in all of this?" "Ah, the culture of blame." "You know very well what I meant. I want to know why, and what's been happening, what's about to happen. I want to know what I've been refusing to understand in the last years." He paused. "Answer me." The Hawkes had a way with command, not all of them realized it, not even Zarall. "She can't. She's already done so much to upset the balance. The realm of souls is falling into ruins. If she left again, the realm will die. So will she. She insulted her duty. She insulted her own existence by falling in love. First with Zarall, and then with your father." Emmanuelle sounded to have insulted Hysteria. But she used Hysteria's own words, and somehow, Carver knew. He knew that their family was an anomaly, and it hurt him to hear those words escaping someone's mouth.



"Azrael, what's going to happen to him? Will he-" "No. Palmira is. The sacrifice of her own life will unlock Anathema's magic." "But the Hawke's magic only truly runs in a male. And Azrael, doesn't he have it? How can a girl inherit a power that still lurks in her father? A girl! It's impossible." Emmanuelle left her seat beside Carver, left it cold and yearning. She walked away, and back, with her back against the night that crept into the slits of this threatened haven. "Exactly. But it's not just Lady Hysteria who upset the balance. The Order, too. They've become more vicious and greedy. For now, we still don't know how Anathema inherited the power. It could have to do with Teodor's experiments, maybe he stumbled onto something, I haven't watched his every move. If I knew, I would have. I should have!" It was the first time Emmanuelle was every frustrated in such a way. "But her power, it's boiling, we can all feel it, even The Order feels it. That's how they found Azrael and Palmira. And in no time, they're going to find you, and Garrett. We still don't know when they can manage that, but they're coming. They're going to that wedding." "It's in two days." "You did your research." Emmanuelle thoughtlessly remarked, which Carver ignored.

"You still haven't told me how I'm going to that wedding." "Simple. Go there, you've studied enough, haven't you? All those science jargons can make him believe." "Azrael? He's a doctor, his jargons are different. And just how does that make me anything less of a stranger?" "You've forgotten who I am?" "I don't know what you are." "Oh, I'm a certain list of things. Dress appropriately, I've seen you put cloth and fabric onto you and announce them as clothes. Let me tell you that they're not. Be the nerd that you've groomed yourself to be." "What am I going to say to him once we meet?" "I don't know. You talk to more people than I can count with two hands. He's your brother, for crying out loud. Talk about senseless things. He may be a doctor, but you're a scientist working up to the ladder. Since he's your brother, I trust you to be less awkward than you actually are." "Be less awkward with your brother you've never seen for more than three decades, noted. And The Order?" "I forgot to tell you because I enjoyed making fun of you. Magic comes less naturally to you now, your body isn't your body so it's like teaching a fly to bark. You can eventually bark, but it's going to take a while, with need of a lot of help. You're basically normal." "And you've always insulted me and my magic." "That's because you don't really have it anymore." "I still have telepathy." Carver shot back at her.

With the same sharp look that Azrael gave Palmira earlier that day.

Where you go I go
What you see I see
I know I'd never be me
Without the security
Of your loving arms
Keeping me from harm
Put your hand in my hand
And we'll stand


"Palmira. Listen to me, we don't have to do this!" He paced around the room, " This is full of... of-" "Azrael, stop." "Why?"
Oh, it was a question warranted a thousand answers, or more.

Let the sky fall
When it crumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together


"I love you," Azrael was desperate. It was useless, but he pleaded. "Please, I can't lose you. Not like this." "Hey, A. Come on," Palmira stroked his cheek, "If not now, then when? This is how I wanna pass. By saving you." She smiled a weak smile, a liberated smile, melancholic, but liberated. "I don't want to be saved." "Don't be stupid."

They were silent for a while.

"A. Do you remember Nana's torte?" "Of course, I do. I remember the torte I refused to eat. I remember the last conversation we had, it wasn't pleasant. I disappointed her. I hurt her." He stood up, "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! How could I have forgotten!" And how he missed her. How he hated himself for leaving her that day. He hated himself for a lot of things. Palmira gave him another reason to. "She wouldn't want to see you succumb to self-hatred. It's pitiful," she laughed. "I am pitiful. The women I love end up miserable." "I'm miserably happy."

"Are you?" "Yes." "You were dreaming." "What?" "You had a dream about eating torte." "What do you mean, "dream?' I came back from work..." "You didn't eat much, though. "What are you saying?" "It was Nana." "Watcher's sake, Palmira. What are you saying at this time? We should be talking about not going through this wedding!" He was agitated, "You're agitated." "I am!" Palmira burst into laughter, "This isn't the time to be talking about these things. I doubt this is the time to be laughing, either. You know what, we can talk about them after- when we cancel the wedding! It's just a ceremony. It doesn't mean anything. It won't mean anything if I lose you." "I know. I see you."

"I see you." It was Palmira's way of telling him, "I know you."

"Do you?" It was Azrael's time to ask. "Yes. That's why I know that you can do this." "Not without you." "Well, the wedding, you can't do without me. Living, you can. We have two beautiful angels!" "I know." "See?" "I don't see it, Palmira. It's- it's-" "Dark." "Yes, dark." "The lights are out." "Palmira, please stop making jokes out of this conversation." She wasn't joking. It was dark, she was momentarily blind, and she was numb. She's been having these episodes since Anathema was born. These episodes were transient, and she never told Azrael. Even now. It didn't matter that Azrael now knew what he was, and who he is. He wasn't capable of finding out now. "Let's get married, okay?" "There's no winning against you." "Even if you fled, I'd find you. There's really no running away from this, A." "Myrrh."

"I love you, too." It was late, but Azrael knew. He thought, You love lying to me, too. "I'm sorry." Palmira turned her eyes away. "When are you going to tell me everything?" "What good will telling you do?" "What good will dying for me do?" "It's you or me, A. And I don't know if you see it, but I'm not you. I can't do what you can. I don't have what you have. Why can't you see that I'm doing this for you?" They were going in circles. "I don't see the point of this. We're cancelling the wedding." "We are not cancelling the wedding. You'll, what? Postpone the wedding so I could live. And then, what? Risk being hounded by The Order all our lives? Are you even thinking about the twins? Yourself? That your one day you'll just drop dead in front of your kids with or without them knowing why? They're going to grow up. Ask questions. I can't even say for sure whether Anathema can understand what's happening now. Or if Abaddon can. We don't know what they know, what they hear. What blatant lies and truths the wind is whispering to them. They're Hawke. They're Mayfair. And now both of them could be abominations because of me. Darn it, A. Darn it." "What guarantee do you have that when we go through with this, they'll stop?" Why, Palmira? What is it that you're not telling me?"



Palmira remembers the ornate gift they received. She kept it hidden. It was one less thing off Azrael's mind. The trinket was nothing but The Order's final act of bestowing humiliation. The trinket was their triumph.

"If I didn't do this, we'll be happy for what, one, two, five, ten years? I need to do this so I can unbind you." "I'm fine with one, two, three  more years with you. Just a time longer." "Until they catch us. Take you. Our children. It's selfish, A. It's selfish." "As selfish as dying on me." "Don't make this harder than it already is. I'm being a jerk, I know. But I know that you understand, that you just refuse to listen. I need to do this." "And then what? The three of us live happily ever after? The Order will stop hunting us? Anathema and Abaddon will be as normal as other kids can ever be? Right. A single dad who almost lives at a hospital raising kids, twins for that matter. I'll make a really good dad." Azrael knew that he was the one being a jerk.

"You'll forget me soon." "Hah! I don't get how and where you get these bull you're coming up with." "I told you," Palmira held Azrael's hand, "I told you, you'll forget soon."

Palmira did what she did. It was her final act of love. And cowardice.

The Hale residence sighed the night.



So did the stars above it.

So did Emmanuelle. "As I thought, your brother's still useless." Emmanuelle spited Palmira. But there were things that she hasn't told Carver, "We'll cross the bridge when we get there," she mumbled to herself. She was no better.

At the end of the day, Life should ask you, "Do you want to save changes?"

How the misc-tery continues:
I, Iridessa: 3rd [What happens at home]

Why not try a misc-stery?
Blood of the Mayfair: 32nd [Hail Rain and Sunshine]

or a Reincarnation Project:
Hawke Revival: 26th [Hale Bonding]

 

anything