10-07-2015, 06:33 PM
Springtime
“Lord Faulkner, you are positively the most handsome of devils I have seen as of late- tell me, dearest, what shall you offer me for my soul today?”
Her ladyship Justine Eleanora Halsbrook nee d’Valois was a strange woman, Lord Faulkner had decided. While he most assuredly enjoyed her company, enjoyed the tea they had away from her husband and the discussions they had over magical theory. They had an accord- he understood the great and important work that she did for the greater magical community and she understood his diplomatic role within his chantry.
Aside from her cabal, the rest of the enlighten world saw little of Lady Halsbrook. Not since the incident with Malcolm Aisley, not since their little world was rocked by his indiscretions. Infernalism, people whispered, but were all too polite to say outloud. She’d dealt with the problem but not without a toll; Lord Faulkner wondered briefly if his dearest Justine ever emerged from that mindscape, if their tea times were just moments of clarity in a mess of sacrifices Euthanatoi make.
“Dearest,” he said in a voice that was soft, that rumbled against her breastbone when she heard it though he sat so far away. It may as well been worlds, “we shan’t jest of such things, lest someone uninformed believe you to be serious.”
“Oh, come now,” she purred, “we all know how I feel about the sanctity of our souls.”
“It still steels my heart to stop.”
“Why, Lord Faulkner, I had not been aware your heart still beat for anything save your Great and Glorious house.”
“You spurn me, dear lady- were it not for the Order I would say my heart beat only for you.”
“Ohhh, dearest,” she huffs, takes a sip of her coffee and looks at him with those starstruck eyes. She wears the raiment of madness so beautifully. Were she not a lady of breeding she would be in an asylum. Were she not a lady of breeding, she would have warped the world to her will long ago, the whole of it twisted to fit those visions of demons and madmen.
He looks at her, those sparkling eyes and those almost untamed ringlets. He could have sworn he saw the barest bits of baby’s breath in her hair. He could have imagined the tiniest of flowers, the reverie of spring in her countenance. He looked at her, with his dark eyes and his overly formal demeanor. He’d known her before this all. Known her before her husband and she had made their summer in India, when she came back with a new and glorious purpose. No longer a creature speaking in flowers and fans, she was creation. She was Change.
“What has you so vexed, Lady Halsbrook?”
“Aleister Crowley,” she sighs.
“Oh dearest, not this again,” he sighs between laughs. Amused, but he loves her rant.
“The man grasps at what he believes is the truth of enlightenment and peddles it with his Golden Dawn and, if what you’ve told me rings true, he comes so close to understanding but his erroneous and terrible assumptions hold him back.”
“He’s a human being thinking outside of the box.”
“He’s a poor excuse of a human will masquerading as a True Seeker… Also, I have met the gentleman. He is a twat.”
Lord Faulkner laughed, reached forward to take Lady Halsbrook’s hand. The Euthanatos met his eyes and smiled, laughed because his mirth pleased her. Because having another was grounding. It was so nice, for a moment, to feel normal, to be reminded of the real world around her. A moment of clarity before the inevitable madness came back.
A sacrifice. A worthy sacrifice for the safety of her homeland.
“Lord Faulkner, you are positively the most handsome of devils I have seen as of late- tell me, dearest, what shall you offer me for my soul today?”
Her ladyship Justine Eleanora Halsbrook nee d’Valois was a strange woman, Lord Faulkner had decided. While he most assuredly enjoyed her company, enjoyed the tea they had away from her husband and the discussions they had over magical theory. They had an accord- he understood the great and important work that she did for the greater magical community and she understood his diplomatic role within his chantry.
Aside from her cabal, the rest of the enlighten world saw little of Lady Halsbrook. Not since the incident with Malcolm Aisley, not since their little world was rocked by his indiscretions. Infernalism, people whispered, but were all too polite to say outloud. She’d dealt with the problem but not without a toll; Lord Faulkner wondered briefly if his dearest Justine ever emerged from that mindscape, if their tea times were just moments of clarity in a mess of sacrifices Euthanatoi make.
“Dearest,” he said in a voice that was soft, that rumbled against her breastbone when she heard it though he sat so far away. It may as well been worlds, “we shan’t jest of such things, lest someone uninformed believe you to be serious.”
“Oh, come now,” she purred, “we all know how I feel about the sanctity of our souls.”
“It still steels my heart to stop.”
“Why, Lord Faulkner, I had not been aware your heart still beat for anything save your Great and Glorious house.”
“You spurn me, dear lady- were it not for the Order I would say my heart beat only for you.”
“Ohhh, dearest,” she huffs, takes a sip of her coffee and looks at him with those starstruck eyes. She wears the raiment of madness so beautifully. Were she not a lady of breeding she would be in an asylum. Were she not a lady of breeding, she would have warped the world to her will long ago, the whole of it twisted to fit those visions of demons and madmen.
He looks at her, those sparkling eyes and those almost untamed ringlets. He could have sworn he saw the barest bits of baby’s breath in her hair. He could have imagined the tiniest of flowers, the reverie of spring in her countenance. He looked at her, with his dark eyes and his overly formal demeanor. He’d known her before this all. Known her before her husband and she had made their summer in India, when she came back with a new and glorious purpose. No longer a creature speaking in flowers and fans, she was creation. She was Change.
“What has you so vexed, Lady Halsbrook?”
“Aleister Crowley,” she sighs.
“Oh dearest, not this again,” he sighs between laughs. Amused, but he loves her rant.
“The man grasps at what he believes is the truth of enlightenment and peddles it with his Golden Dawn and, if what you’ve told me rings true, he comes so close to understanding but his erroneous and terrible assumptions hold him back.”
“He’s a human being thinking outside of the box.”
“He’s a poor excuse of a human will masquerading as a True Seeker… Also, I have met the gentleman. He is a twat.”
Lord Faulkner laughed, reached forward to take Lady Halsbrook’s hand. The Euthanatos met his eyes and smiled, laughed because his mirth pleased her. Because having another was grounding. It was so nice, for a moment, to feel normal, to be reminded of the real world around her. A moment of clarity before the inevitable madness came back.
A sacrifice. A worthy sacrifice for the safety of her homeland.