>SETH<

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Name: Seth Ripley // Nicknames: Make your own // Age: 23 // Gender: Male

Sexuality: Heterosexual // Height: 6’4 // Body: Mesomorph // Parentage: Eric Ripley & Samantha Ripley // Birthdate: November 8th

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ADD ONS

Role: Major assassin // Unknown role: True usurper

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Appearance:

Where hauntingly dark eyes lay, along with the rest of the firm facets peppered all over his visage, is atop a square-like shape with a jaw that looks as if it were sculpted with diamonds and no less than. Seth has a slightly wider hair line that races almost in a straight line across his forehead - which is tall but not overtly so. His jawline, aside from being a straightaway from either ends of his mistily present sideburns, and above that the very edges of his hairline, is angular and unsurprisingly strong. It slants sharply towards his chin, which is not pointed, but rather broad with a thin, shallow cave in the middle. With just the bottom half of his face, Seth looks like he could slice through titanium if a large piece were chucked at him.

Seth Ripley has an odd sort of beauty to him: hot “black” eyes that can pierce through shadows ironically enough - but his irises don’t need to be bright to flash, to give off that eerie, cold feeling creeping up your spine like a terribly slow insect…Seth has a gaze that looks as if it capsules phantoms, and eyelashes just above that which curl above his cheeks like long, inky threads. His lashes stick close together and look rather thick, like a makeup wand was swept through them less than carefully. His bottom lashes look intense against his skin, a soft, honey-gold, and in simple terms - “light brown.” With Seth's bottom lashes, while a splendid contrast against his flesh, gives him a look of quiet exhaustion - accentuating the shadows beneath his eyes until his, unfortunately usual dark circles seem much more than just muted lines, but unchecked insomnia. But foregoing any illnesses Seth may or may not have, even with his darker facets, there's a sort of tender vision when it comes to Seth Ripley’s face.

Closely above his eyes are black, straight brows that look as if they were colored in with a stencil. “Thickly furred,” they sit almost tightly above his eyes and nearly “overhang” where his forehead extends. Because of this, Seth’s eyes look to be hooded, and yet his bottom halves stretch slightly downwards to where even his pupils don’t meet, but hover inside his scleras like black moons. His nose is slightly crooked and turns down at the tip, but most appearing is the hitch in which it inclines, a bump if you will. His nose is thin but his nostrils are strong and don’t cave into themselves, but open up more like a nice fleshy canvas for piercings or dare say marring. As for lips, the ever so lovely feature most, if fortunate enough, wield like glossy weapons, Seth has a dangerously slim pair. He’s a little more bottom heavy, and should a thumb ever find its way gliding across it, there would actually be ample space for caressing, however it should be carried out. But his top lip, which if not being slid over and over by his busy, busy tongue, will be outshined by his lower half, even in all of its slender glory. The color of Seth’s lips are a sort of dark peach, if not tan with soft, irritated hues - like the skin on his lips had been nibbled on over some serious thought. And inside his tenderly down-set mouth lie small, square shaped teeth; faintly yellow with “ivory blades” for canines.

Seth Ripley, true to his chasmic pair of eyes, his dark brows, and the various black threads of armpit and leg hairs, has equally inky tresses. His hair is thin but not overtly so - easily slicked back, which is his go to, and easily manipulated. His locks reach just a bit past his neck but don’t hang in tendrils around the sides of his face. Seth’s hair stays behind his head whether by wax or water, and serves as a sort of overgrown slick-back if anything, hanging back against his nape like obsidian silk. Unbeknownst to most though, Seth’s hair isn’t very finger-running friendly - not if you want to slide your fingers across his “helmet for hair.”

Seth’s shoulders are broad - like he wouldn’t be able to fit through your average closet door sort of broad. Despite the clean-shaven, almost feminine beauty to him that looks as if a thousand butterflies could land upon his face as if it were made of nectar whole, Seth has an unmistakably muscular body. His biceps bulge against tight-fitting shirts and his forearms are straight with powerful veins. Seth’s hands have more so finger-length than thickness, and his knuckles protrude like they were etched sharply by a careless artist. His pecs are thick and squishy and are not far off from his stomach in comparison. Seth doesn’t have much fat in his abdomen, but he’s not quite thin enough to have an onslaught of abs. At most, nestled beneath his chest lay a faintly present four pack and a just barely skinny waist that just barely lets people know how good he’d look in a skirt, let alone basketball shorts.

Personality:

>Expressive<

Traffic, if it could ever exist on a human face, would be plastered all over Seth’s in the form of blaring lights, tipped over cones, and foggy-worded signs. His eyes light up like street lights - filtering through the obscurity of night like tiny, blinking blazes. And his eyes also do other things, like melt away into chips and harden themselves into cold indifference. Various adjectives could be used to describe the traffic on Seth’s face, the numerous looks that ghost by and tilt his lips or narrow his eyes, or even looks that don’t vanish after a couple of uses, but become a sort of trademark; gliding across his teeth in the shape of a moist, salmon tongue. Despite his frosty bearing, Seth is…a grinner. Not particularly of joy or contentment, but something much more smug - perhaps “sinister.” Seth isn’t a husk within another husk trapped inside of a labyrinth of puzzles and binding shells, he fronts his emotions, any emotions openly, be it faux, real, or some sort of hybrid. The man rarely smiles for happiness, the malformed lumps of joy a person can swallow and digest like a greedless titan…but spite. Cold-eyed, lip-licking spite; a vinous little grin that all but whispers: “Eat me”

Seth isn’t at all difficult to read. Any emotion that passes him, save for desire, will be threaded into his face like a flashy font. But who’s to say that the emotions he’s showing are true? Visage alone, Seth Ripley can be a trustless person, and if he had a fine print, it’d probably be: “Viewer discretion advised.”

>Bratty<

At times…well, all the time, Seth has this sort of faint superiority cast over him like the sheen of dew over flower petals. On the contrary, he doesn’t outright think that he’s better than any he comes across, but possesses a sort of regality that speaks otherwise. Despite what he emanates; an air of steely indifference, Seth is actually quite the troublesome person. He has expectations that make him seem spoiled, like in all of his years he’s received rubies as flowers and pony rides to summertime villas. If his face doesn’t get him into trouble (Grinning like an unfortunately hot maniac), then his attitude definitely will. He’s demanding, forthright, and bold, unafraid to seize whatever so happens to catch his eye. But he’s also incredibly picky, able to pluck the ire out of even the most patient person around with his inability to let go of the menu even after dinner is served.

>Quiet<

Seth isn’t all that chatty. In fact, he’s a borderline wallflower, melting into the background during cacophonous crowds and only revealing himself when there's wine to be drunk. On a different, intersecting plane, Seth is a serious person. Yes he’s hard to please like a tyrant, and he’ll blow a raspberry at you for no apparent reason, but there's an almost appalling amount of firmness toning him beneath the wraps. Like the way a skeleton supports the rest of the body from the inside, hidden beneath the flesh, but still evident in the hardness of knees and shins, or the way a person's spine shows like crocodile ridges. It may not be completely obvious, but it's definitely there, the toughest quality of all. Seth takes things seriously whether it be an unsavory reaction or a goofy proposal, he’s a man who’ll intensely consider things for no good reason. It's a type of logic that surpasses all logic, and bleeds away into obliviousness. And because of that fact, it may not be best to favor stupid jokes in his presence, not if you want a reaction of nothing but hard, unamused eyes.

>Preserving<

In terms of basic human compassion, he has very little. He’s a man driven by his own personal cravings, and can be considered a glutton when life is his sweet. Seth values himself above all else, and has very little space in his “I Want” index for any others. But when something or someone actually does manage to catch his attention, surprisingly enough, he keeps his distance, observing from blind spots, taming himself at their side without them even knowing it. In other words, he’s not the shadow, but the person watching said shadow from afar, simply content with tinkering in from…not the sidelines, but from up above. That is after all where puppetry takes place - where the strings fall down and guide any and all limbs that the master can command on a whim. Seth is the type of person to carve whatever path he personally thinks is best for the person of his affections, whether they want it or not. And sometimes his decisions aren't all that selfless either. The path he carves could be entirely for himself, and he’d be deluded enough to think that it’d be beneficial to the other party as much as it was beneficial for him too. And with that said, Seth can be a delusional person - in a way that he thinks he can achieve the impossible all on his own or in a way that he believes that his judgment alone is the greater good. He wholeheartedly believes that he’s the lesser of two evils in almost every scenario, and it can be damaging to those involved.

>Impractical<

Seth has a more than non traditional approach to things. He runs through life and chases adrenaline like a monster, forgetting all else, even the laws of plausibility. He can appear sort of manic at times, not entirely so, but his lust for adventure and the many unconventional harvests of life beckon him - tight against his throat like a dog on a leash. One thing about Seth Ripley is that he’ll never stop chasing the “pointless things,” the meaningless, and he’ll always take a look at things from a rose tinted point of view. Don’t get me wrong, the man can be a realistic person, but he goes about things in an entirely different manner that can make a person's mind go up in smoke.

>Angry<

A person's temperament is their nature, write hotheaded in their genetic code and that's how they’ll be. Seth has that written in his code…in permanent ink. He’s not necessarily a snappy person, in fact, he tolerates a lot. And there’s no describable limit to just how much he tolerates. But there's certain instances where he doesn’t want to listen or talk. He just wants to sever heads. Seth doesn’t go from zero to one hundred, he’s already there; laying elbows back on top of the hill, waiting for that one moment that just blows shit up.

>Perceptive<

Seth has an almost uncanny amount of insight. He’s strangely smart in the people way; able to decipher a person's future intentions in a matter of moments when his brain isn’t addled by his many, many pointless, fluctuating emotions.

>Flustered<

There may never be a day where Seth is caught off guard, only in the vicissitudes of love. He doesn’t make a habit of teasing, that is unless his toothy, vampiric smiles could ever be enough to do the job, but Seth does have his moments. It's not the fun, playful type of teasing either, but the type that makes a person sincerely question if somethings wrong with them, and not because their heart is fluttering with butterflies and halos. While Seth may not at all be the best flirt, and neither cares much for it, surprisingly enough he’s a three-legged deer when the roles are reversed. He doesn’t process flirtatious advancements well, and can either come off as arrogant or devoid if faced with most if not all flirt monsters. Seth is the type of person to detach himself using rude words in an all too clever attempt to conceal his flaming hot hide. If (but rarely) he does have the urge to reciprocate, he’ll come on either way too strong, albeit cluelessly, or callous. He’ll place scorching kisses on the skin of his conquest, or fucked up words that, funnily enough, will leave some wanting more. It all depends on how much interest he takes…or how little.

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Scent: He frequently wears a heady type of cologne that smells of some sort of smoky sweet.. // Voice: Deep and smooth, kinda like the feeling you get after biting into chocolate and swallowing a cold glass of water.// Preferences: Wintry days, dark hair, felines, hot soup, long legs, sleeping // Accessories: He likes to wear black eyeliner and smokey eyes, and on some occasions, black lipstick. Seth also has studs in his earlobes and sometimes sports silver or gold bands on his fingers. // Tattoos: None // Relationship Status: Super single, how he likes it. // Love Language: Acts of service // Thinks about: No one

Theme Songs:

Meddle About

Magnolia Park - "Misfits" (feat. Taylor Acorn)

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ADD ONS

(c) Hera_ @picrew.me

(Not 100% accurate)

(c) Elena Illustrations @picrew.me

(Not 100% accurate)

An engulfing tenebrosity swallowed everything whole with eternally gaping jaws, and if not for the flickering torch lights, crackling in incandescent hues of yellow and orange, all that could be seen was complete and utter darkness. Heat emanating from the hoisted flames rolled in through the thin, steel beams like circles of fog. And for a moment he basked in the warmth, the fire tinted air that crept around his body like soft, feathery hands, that is before the autumn winds tore in through an unsealed window and swept away all semblance of heat. The window was one in which glimmering moonlight used to pour through in silvery streams; rippling through overhead and glowing down on the toes of his worn out, ruddy boots. But not long ago a couple of sentries stamped through with their glinting swords, illuminating lanterns, and pitch black tarp; strung over the only source of light that didn’t hiss and burn, but pooled along the stony floor like an angel wing’s reflection. Those sentries weren’t his. They wore firm, hallowed badges, and eyes beset with sinless lumine. They were the Head of the Guards, and Seth’s worst headache.

There weren’t many soldiers who wouldn’t do the bidding of an assassin for one thousand gold credits. Seth found that out only three days after he arrived, or after he was captured even. Piercing damascus was lined at his throat, caving into his flesh until beads of scarlet descended down onto the steel plane and sat there in tiny, glistening red orbs. He distinctly remembered choking, grimacing at the thought of his tousled, severed head rolling around on the ground between the cavalry’s armored feet. He had a bullet wound in his abdomen then, and was just short of being gunned down in the chapel, almost a whole new definition of “holy.” It was a year and a half ago when Seth Ripley, the assassin with one of the most potent blades in the empire and a daring lack of alias, fearlessly embarked on an assignment in the capital, Ellicidy city, and navigated one of the most famous chapels in search of the High Priestess. Reminiscing now, Seth knew that the building was too empty of classy, laughing peals, and that the shadows were too wide and the air too suspended. Soldiers dressed in thick leather, chain link, and steel crouched behind makeshift walls and boiled away atop the hot ceiling beams just to seize him. It was an elaborate set up Seth condemned himself for falling for, and sent flames encroaching his insides in a searing, indescribable amount of odium; fluctuating as firmly as a stormy sea.

Dilapidated waters torn apart in silky clear ribbons by the colored river stones was all Seth really saw when the victorious soldiers had their hands threaded in his locks and their steely cuffs casting his wrists behind his back. His head was dunked into the water, too shallow to drown in, or at least tease it - but not deep enough to avoid slamming his face against the chiseled, soaking stones. The soldiers, he noticed with their whooping and thunderous laughter, relished in his suffering. And even though Seth took their malpractice in stride, knowing that he had slain many of their men while they could only grasp at the dust billowing in his wake, his torture didn’t end there. The cold gruel that presently slithered around inside a small, silver bowl and sat halfway across his cell, was beset with not only whatever the infantile guards could hack up out of their throats, but mealworms that slid around amidst the gray slop in tiny, resounding echoes; like someone was pressing their sticky fingers together. Over and over again. The only times he did brave eating whatever was chucked into that slimy silver bowl was when he had gotten thin - almost sickly. He had turned into a skeleton down in the trenches of hell, a place where the fire danced along the bony remains of whatever other victim the dungeons had swallowed, and the putrid scent of charred flesh filled his nostrils like the undead. And the last time Seth had to smell one of those monstrosities was five years ago.

But now, in the present, things were different. He ate well, not like a king, but well enough, like a fat peasant. Corrupt officers smuggled in product befitting a man of his caliber. And his caliber was respectfully lowered ever since he got sent into the execution chambers. Seth ate peas, slightly old steak, chicken breasts, and the occasional wine or two. He particularly enjoyed bringing the golden chalice to his lips, watching the claret liquid spiral and dribble over the rim like his own bloody sea glowing under the fiery torch light. Then the goblet would be ripped out of his hands by “the dealer” when the marching of particularly soldier-like boots reverberated in the chambers like thundering skies. His dealer was easily spooked, a bit of a flower, and had this sly, wiry smile that screamed: liability! But his undetectable contraband was simply too good for Seth to ruin with a severed head. A year and a half ago, Seth was suffering. Now he had plans unfolding, stupid, money hungry goons rolling out the red carpet he himself would be walking upon in a matter of hours. Hours.

Drake Scarton. Seth mused, a small, flat smile ghosting his lips as quickly as the flickering flames past the iron bars. Drake Scarton was the man who would ultimately do it all. He, after slaying the Emperor, would claim the throne, and hold the entire empire by the reins. Seth knew that the world outside was singed and broken. He could smell the scent of battle, or rather the aftermath, wafting in through the unclosed window in a spiel of bloodied corpses, and the smoky remains of the Hastings empire's most prominent buildings. He could breathe in the scent of destruction, even through the stench of flaming hot flesh and festering bone down in the labyrinth of Satan's lair. Even though Seth was caged like an animal, or even worse than, he knew that he had won. But he also knew that Drake, after deposing the monarch, murdering nearly half the noble population, and fighting the imperial army side by side with other fugitives and common goons, wouldn’t simply keep the seat warm, the silky, gilded seat that could command several countries with just a nod, could instruct many different realms with just a measly piece of scribbled on parchment paper. Seth knew that no matter how much that meathead Drake Scarton confessed his allegiance to him, that he would most certainly have a less than ideal fate befall him as soon as coronation day: his head on a silver platter.

The cement floor was especially chilly today, and sitting down on the floor with rags for clothes, practically one strong blow away from turning into dust, was not doing him any favors. Seth had his back against the wall, beneath the window which was almost like his accomplice - carrying special, gratifying scents of ruin and whisking in the roaring discord of the outside world hefty enough to shake tree tops. The window also did other things, like allow him to utter forbidden words to messengers snaking stealthily against the exterior walls, risking their lives just for the revolt, the revolt that took him an entire year to plan - all while he stared death in the face; slithering ever so closely with each passing day, configured of cracked, blood seeping skulls and Death’s withering, bony hands that could still hold the weight of a moon, reaching for him through a fissure darker than starless night sky. But that part was all in his head. Seth knew that much. He allowed Death to plague his dreams every single day, feeling as if the tortuous abyss that greeted him every time he slept would prepare him for what was to come: his execution date. Although now Seth wasn’t at all concerned with what was supposed to be his end today. He knew the empire had a much larger task on its hands with an usurper occupying the throne - an Emperors blood tainting his sword but the Empress spared.

An Empress Seth boldly expected to grace the execution chambers any moment now. It was the greatest gamble of his life, but there, where other men groaned and whispered, where the floors were so disgusting, most soldiers who came through had to step over red puddles of blood, and where the shadows devoured all but his face that glowed with a crackling, fiery hue, Seth didn’t really hope, but he knew that she would arrive.

And she came.

The stone walls of her castle were unmarred. She had never doubted that their thickness and strength were impregnable, yet the hustle and bustle of strangers asserting themselves in her castle did not stop. The sound of loud thudding footsteps caused Ariella to shrink back closer to her bed, knowing that it was soldiers, traitors to her Empire who were crawling through her castle. There had been very little resistance here in the capital city of Ellicidy. If there had been any loyal, they had quickly been turned with the threat of death or killed, and she doubted that they would maintain any loyalty to the Edevanes with their lives on the line and potentially their family’s lives. With so very little resistance they had not seen a reason to use cannon fire and cause damage to the walls of the castle. However, she could still smell the burning and gunfire wafting in through her window. The city was not made of a durable material as the castle, and they had not been concerned about preserving it.

The fireplace was empty of soothing warm flames, and the cold stone floor seeped up through her clothing. She was curled on the floor of her bed chamber knees drawn to her chest arms wrapped around her knees. A writhing strangling blackness would spread through her chest and heat her torso and limbs as it spread outward. She hated them. She hated them so much.

She covered her face in her hands as tears leaked out. She couldn’t stop thinking about William, her husband. Her head and chest hurt and she couldn’t think straight through the pain and constantly circling thoughts. She was visualizing his face and how he walked and how he would deal with their assailants. She imagined speaking to him and rolling up in his arms for comfort or asking his advice on the next step. He was alive yesterday. How could he be gone? How could she not have been able to save him? Why couldn’t they have been merciful to him? She had to face the fact that she would never see him again. With that thought she let out a quiet whimper and more tears spilled onto her cheeks.

She was not the best with her sword, but she had been able to kill any guards who fought against her one on one. She had also kept a pistol in her other hand, but she was not able to load it quickly if there were multiple assailants and had to depend on sword fighting. The guards with guns did not take them out and shoot at her. It didn’t take long for her ammunition to run out. As she was still alive now, she figured out that they had been ordered not to kill her. After she had killed several of them, she was surprised that they had obeyed their orders. The usurper must be very powerful and frightening to keep them under that kind of control.

William had told her to find someplace to hide and try to escape, while he tried to rally troops who were loyal to them. There had been none. He had managed to kill some and avoid other guards. He had been smart enough to find ammunition and he also had a sword strapped to his side. She had stubbornly refused to leave him, and for a while, they had managed to keep them at bay. He was very skillful with the sword, and he was adequate with the rifle he had grabbed from the armory as soon as he realized that something was wrong. She didn’t realize that they had lasted so long because their enemies only wanted William dead. Eventually, they were surrounded, and guards, who were more skillful than others she had faced, ganged up on her and disarmed her just in time for her to watch as William was shot and then stabbed. Blood had splattered from the wound before steadily oozing and soaking his clothing as he collapsed to the ground. She watched him blink and groan once before he stilled and stopped breathing.

Screams had erupted from her mouth and she had struggled to escape. She was surprised when they let her go and she had run to his still-warm body and pulled it close. The blood had soaked the front of her dress. She had sobbed and begged for them to help him. They had stood around making sure she didn’t try to escape. One of the younger guards had broken from the professional steadfast poses as they stood around her and had braved telling her that he was gone and there was nothing that could be done for him. She had screamed hatred and vitriol at every single one of them. She had promised suffering and pain that equaled her own and that they should not have left her alive to plot revenge and suffer alone. She had made eye contact with the younger soldier and begged him to end her own life and suffering with the pistol at his side. She remembered that she had wanted to stop feeling the pain that had engulfed her. The younger soldier who had spoken to her looked unnerved and stepped back behind a senior guard. The older guards were professionals and they were unbothered by a young grieving woman’s ravings.

When she had finally exhausted herself, they grabbed her and half carried, half dragged her to a balcony overlooking part of the city. She started to struggle again as Drake Scarton, the usurper, announced that he was their new emperor. She could hear the crowd’s murmur even from here as they observed her disheveled appearance and the blood stain. “Emperor William Edevane is dead. Long live Emperor Drake Scarton!” Even his name didn’t sound royal. She wanted to know what they would do with William’s body.

Afterward, she was escorted to her room. Several soldiers set out to search her room for anything dangerous. The window was locked, they removed anything unusually sharp, they took away paper and pen, and they took away valuables and jewelry. When they had finished, they left her and didn’t even lock her doors showing her what a threat they considered her. She had crawled beside her bed and curled up in a quivering sobbing ball going through cycles of anger, sadness, depression, vengefulness, and disbelief.

It was evening and she was still on the floor. One tray of food had been delivered but she had not touched it. As she was curled there, she was aware of how she ached from being in a similar position for so long. She also realized she was a little disgusted how she had been so enraged, but she had become a quivering little ball on the floor. She stood up and sat on the edge of her bed. She had to start living again. She had to start making plans. It would be hard. When she thought of her future she only saw hopelessness, darkness, and uncertainty, but she was alive. She would fight as long as she was alive, and she would keep fighting until she was dead or she had gotten what she wanted. What did she want? What would she do about it to achieve it?

She wanted William to be alive again. Could a mage achieve that? She wanted her empire back. She wanted her life back. If she couldn’t get William and the empire back, what would she do? She would have to figure out about a mage’s abilities after she had the resources of the Hastings Empire behind her. If a mage could bring William back, they would want to be paid well. How would she get back the Empire?

She couldn’t go around trying to kill people off. Even if she could be successful, no one would want an empress who had murdered enough people to reconquer her empire. No one would want an empress with that much overt bloodshed on her hands. Could she manage to assassinate the usurper herself? Could she gain his confidence even after all of the screaming and hatred from earlier? She continued to debate the question as she got up. She stretched for a moment sore and headed to her closet where she saw herself in a full-length mirror. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes red and swollen, her makeup streaked, and a horrifying bloodstain across the front of her dress. It almost made her want to sob at how pitiful she looked, and the blood stain reminded her of William. She pushed back the instinct of falling back into disbelief and shock. Instead, she reached her shaking hands and carefully poured some water into a basin on her vanity. She washed her face, combed her hair, and looked back in the mirror. She realized that if she wanted to change her clothes, she would need someone’s help.

She timidly cracked open the door to her bed chamber and peered out observing the two guards outside her door. “Excuse me. Could you send a maid or lady-in-waiting to help me?” They looked at each other and then one of them turned to her his brow raised as if he was surprised that she was being so civil. “Sure,” he drawled. He then rang a bell for a servant and told him to go get a maid. She closed the door and waited surprised that it had been so easy. No questions asked. She opened the door again. “Am I allowed to leave my room? The door isn’t locked.” She noticed that the same guard didn’t hide a smirk. “Yeah, you’re allowed to leave. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Once the maid arrived, she brought her to her closet. She could see that the girl stayed far away from her. She was uneasy whether it was from being in the presence of her former empress or because of the blood stain on the front of her dress.

“Can you get me a tunic and britches? Some comfortable shoes in my size would be nice if that were possible. I also need help out of this dress.”

The maid began to undo the lacings. “I know it’s not my place your majesty but are you okay? Are you injured? Do I need to get you bandages and a doctor?”

“What is your name?” Ariella asked.

“Mary,” she responded.

“Mary, do you know what happened here today?”

“I know that the Edevanes are not in control.”

“They killed William. His guards and soldiers killed him. That is his blood on my dress.”

There was silence before a quieter voice responded. “I am sorry.” Mary stood to the side while Ariella slipped out of the ruined dress. She had chosen a simpler more comfortable dress and turned her back to Mary so she could lace her up. “Thank you, Mary. Will you be able to get the things I asked for?”

“I will do my best, your majesty. I know I can get you the clothes but the shoes will be more difficult.”

“Here. Take these. They should help you guess my size.” She handed her a pair of her shoes.”

The girl took them and tucked them into the folds of her dress before bowing. “Is there anything else your majesty?”

“Not for now. Thank you. Be safe Mary,” she responded in a dismissive tone.

After Mary left, she went back to considering how she could regain control. She wasn’t sure if she could gain her soldier’s loyalty back, but she figured that if she managed to topple the usurper they would default back to her, particularly if she did it in a timely fashion. Suddenly, she remembered that they had a renowned assassin in the dungeon. Surely, she could come to some sort of negotiation with him. He probably didn’t eat very well. She could bring him her dinner as a peace offering. She walked over to where it was sitting on her desk. It looked quite cold. She took a tiny taste from the edge and decided she needed to bring fresh food to him. She poked her head outside her door again and went to look for a servant to get her some more dinner. The guards broke away from the door and followed her. She was going to have a difficult time sneaking out later.

After she delivered the message to a servant, she returned to her room and waited for the food to arrive. Mary arrived with the food, which she realized might work out for her.

“Mary. I need you to change clothes with me. I have to go see someone. All you have to do is wait in my room, but you may want to wait in the bathroom so you have an excuse not to see anyone. I can bring in a comfortable chair for you. I will return as quickly as possible. No one has been checking on me. This should work.”

She didn’t know if she could even trust Mary to keep her mouth shut, but maybe she would be compassionate because of what she had told her. Mary took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I can do that. Do you want me to wear that dress or one of the other ones in the close?”

“I don’t care. Take your pick.”

Mary’s eyes lit up as she looked through the beautiful clothing. She chose something quickly because she could sense Ariella’s impatience. It was very elaborate and wouldn’t make sense at all for the situation but no one should see her. Mary had a similar hair texture so as long as she was heard through a door and only from the back she might just be able to pass if a guard came inside the room. She handed her dress to Ariella. While Mary had been changing, she had packed the new hot food. She fumbled around trying to lace Mary. She found that she was able to lace Mary’s dress herself although it took her longer than if she had Mary help her.

“You look nice,” she smiled encouragingly. “Were you able to find what I asked?”

“Yes, your majesty. I am sorry I didn’t have room to bring it to you. I will next time.”

Ariella nodded. “When I come back, to make it seem normal, I will be you helping me get undressed for bed, so remember to ask for you at that time. It may take me a while, so wait until bedtime before you speak to the guards.” She hoped that she would be there to be requested. “Thank you, Mary.”

“Be safe your majesty,” Mary responded.

“Thank you, Mary. I will do my best.

Ariella hid the warm food on the tray with the cold food and exited trying to avoid the guards. She moved quickly so that they couldn’t be able to look at her. She realized after they didn't spare her a look as she passed that they didn’t care one bit about Mary. She was now in the clear. She decided to just take the whole tray with her, including the cold food down to the dungeon. It got colder and damper the further she went. She noticed on her way to the dungeon that several tapestries had been damaged and some furniture would need replacing. She hoped that none of the servants would recognize her. Perhaps she should have asked Mary about her supervisor and if that would be a problem.

She walked through the dungeons looking into each cell until she finally found Seth Ripley. Her footsteps echoed down the stone hall. She had forgotten that he was scheduled to be executed that day. She doubted anyone had remembered him while Drake Scarton was setting up shop. “Hello mister Seth,” she tried to be extra polite. “I came to negotiate your release. I brought you some food. Are you hungry?”

She wondered if she should have saved the food as a bargaining chip. However, she wanted to try to get on his good side. She didn’t know if that was possible after they had laid the trap to capture him. “Do you know who I am?” she asked him. If he did, there was no point in stepping around the truth. He could get her into trouble and there was nothing that she could do about it because she had come down here in person. If he didn’t know, she wouldn’t tell him outright yet. She wanted to get a sense of who he was. “Do you know what has happened today? Has anyone taken care of you in spite of all of the commotion?” Would her attempts at concern and compassion annoy him? Was there any chance it would help her case?

"I want to free the Empire from the usurper. Is there any chance you are interested? At the very least are you interested in being free? I will be honest. I need allies, but I also need to be able to trust you. Do you think I can do that after what happened today?" If he knew what had happened today he would understand. If he didn't, she could fill in what she was asking of him. "I have only one idea, but I do not know how to gain the loyalty of the guard and soldiers. I do not know how I will keep you alive, but we should probably get you out of here if you decide to help me. I am open to suggestions." Her own stomach rumbled reminding her that she had given him two of her meals. It was her own fault for refusing the food. "What do you want?" To properly negotiate with him, she needed to know what he wanted. She needed to know if she was willing or able to give him what he wanted. "You must want freedom, but I don't know what else you want. I am willing to give you a lot if you will be loyal and help me."

There was a gentle, but vibrant sound of tapping shoes. He knew the soldier’s boots well enough; thudding through the corridor with a sort of heft that made their gear jingle in nebulous echoes. It was an ominous toll down in the dungeons, slinking through the dark, fire-webbed passage like an unpleasant, cold wind. Those footfalls were famed, down here at least; beneath the renowned ivory tower where fugitives were bound together like rat kings. But the reiterating noise of padding feet; not like ponderous, glinting, silvery boots, but zephyr-like leather contrived shoes, sang something different. Seth could have fallen asleep to that lullaby, a sound which grew in depth as the fires shivered, and made him feel as if all of his plans had come to fruition. The sound of older, haggard men sailed through the air and shifted through the rank-filled corridor in the form of clanging chains and the rustling of dirty garments. Seth couldn’t see the men, the flanks of each cell were constructed of stone walls with skinny little divots past prisoners had created with the back ends of their faulty spoons, but every sound those skulking creatures emitted, stuck to - dispelling their hot, garbled breaths into the noxious atmosphere as if the stench of death hadn’t crept through enough.

A woman had no place here, even garbed in servants' clothing and flippantly brushed locks, the men tugged against their chains in reverberating clinks, and uttered words hardly befitting seduction, but primitive lust that could make a person's stomach turn sour. Mumbles chorused through the hall, as variegated as clapping rainfall; falling down from a sky, any sky, in the exact same, glassy orb. They all sounded the same - nauseating, and trussed with suggestive mockery. Seth was certain that these men sent to hell could make even the most fragrant bouquet of flowers smell defecated on. The woman stood directly before his cell bars, clenching a glinting, argent tray with frosty-colored plates of fare, its mouthwatering scent whirling through the rusted shafts in a delusion of heavenly flapping wings. “Hello, Mister Seth.” The Empress expressed, a flux of politeness twined like blades of floret in her voice.

The last time Seth had seen her was when the breathy winds could still tousle through his black tresses and when he could curl his fingers through flipping brooks - when he could live outside the tent of sunless walls and cavernous, dreary stone. In the times that he witnessed the Empress’s highly esteemed face he was obscured amongst a crowd, craning his neck upwards while she and her husband waved to all those below where they stood in there unsheathed royal gallery and pressed up against the milky white balustrades just to flash their pearly smiles closely to where their audience could see. The Empress’s newly fitted crown, he remembered, glimmered starkly beneath the sunlight, the scent of blossoms permeated the ether and noble, blushing peonies were fluttering overhead in momentous cheer for the couple’s enthroning. It was Miss Edevanes special day, one he bore witness to up front and center, where her dazzling eyes could shine down on him if they wanted to, but Seth was certain that they were fixed on the horizon instead. Perhaps she was wondering what was to come? Inwardly, Seth almost laughed, wondering if she could have ever predicted a future where her husband was a rufescent corpse and her empire was stolen by the very man who stood beneath her platform on her anointing day; melting back into the dark, forgotten cascades and continuing to hone his blades in the flesh of “innocents.”

That day was the only time Seth cared to see her face; risen closer towards the clouds where both of their shadows could gape over him in unspoken splendor. Now the times were different though…even in the depressing eclipse of darkness that was the dungeon, Seth rose, slowly. A fascinating amelioration of height became displayed through the bars with every ascent he made; chains fastened to his wrists, tethered to his ankles in one, glistering strip where another pair of cuffs laid just above his feet, cackled softly in the stilling silence, like the other men were somehow aware of his changed presence - no longer supported quietly against the spider-stitched walls, but fully erected with this hauntingly submissive smile no other person could see besides the Empress cleverly fashioned in peasant finery and the wispy hues the flames discharged against the passage walls. Now his shadow, apparent in the torch light’s yellowy, glowing path which sunk in flits against the floor, just beneath Miss Edevanes feet, was draped over her, turning her unbefitting apparel into the same onyx nearly the entire dungeon was swallowed by. His clothes looked as if rodents chewed on them in his sleep, and his trousers weren’t really trousers, but sheets of hollow not-so-white that exhibited almost the entirety of his lower two appendages - “shorts” that looked as if they were torn off just above the knees, and it would have looked as if he were in his own drawers if it weren’t for that explicitly edging length.

Without a word, Seth took the tray of food from her fingertips…though the bars were hardly spaced enough to draw it completely to his chest, and his cuffed hands could barely split apart against one of the shafts with the chain stretching between them and raking against the rod like someone was taking a key to the floor. Nonetheless, he made it work, clenching the entire tray in a perfect, unwavering horizontal posture in his left hand while he absorbedly fed himself through the bars with his right; picking apart the victuals similar to how the palace food-taster would; checking if the plates had been tampered with before sending them up to the Emperor - well the late Emperor. The taste was delightful, and he let every spice, every sweet, and even every bitter tang, melt onto his tongue like nirvana. He hadn’t eaten today in purgatory, certain that his dealer wouldn’t risk smuggling in old banquet, not while Drake was actively seizing the empire, so frankly, the Empress’s facile offering was a welcome notion that he let slide down his throat in clement bliss.

He didn’t stop until he had devoured nearly the entire tray. The colder food he left untouched, a familiar hotness unfurling through him at even the sight of less than perfect fare. Especially when the tray was supposed to be utilized with her flowery words, supposed to coax him into her alignment like he was nothing but a bristling, stray dog. “Do you know who I am?” She started speaking, to which silence answered back. Still clutching the tray, Seth began to busy himself against the bars, wiping the crumbs off of his face with a slow, slinky roll of his knuckles. Her words echoed almost loudly throughout the stone hall, surpassing the sound of crepitating fire that he had grown to enjoy; a sound he sought most while down in the bowels of netherland.

“A battle happened.” Seth spoke for the first time today, channeling his eyes of smoldering coal onto her. And he ignored her latter question lest he burst into roaring laughter. Am I interested in being free? Seth thought, and any remnant of mirth sparkling within him dissolved into nothingness, nothing but abyss. Words continued to roll out of her mouth, just words. And frankly, Seth was through with hearing them. Frankly he began to wonder what her final expression would be when her throat was sundered by his blade. Would it be an uncanny contortion? Animosity? Or would her lips be peeled back in one last scream? Now he almost couldn’t wait to find out.

“What do you want?” The question tore through his brewing thoughts of stone-cold murder, all else surrendering into the archived cavities of his mind, and when her lips had finally and completely stilled, what crept onto his face was a relaxed, infelicitous downwards smile that dug into his crafted cheeks. His eyes reflected a fleeting burnish of eeriness, like ill-omened specters danced inside of his optics for a second and nothing more; dispersing back into an all black hue which in themselves could ignite fear inside all who looked into them - his eyes which shone nefariousness and forgotten ossuary of the brittle bones of the assassinated. In an instant, Seth let the platter fall from his fingers and slam against the ground like a clap of lightning, the tray quivering rapidly amongst the shattered porcelain plates and chilled food that would be a feast for the unrevealed palmetto bugs later, when the corridors weren’t so bustling with the Empress’s golden foot steps.

His eyes were starless and mystifying, his jaw visibly tensing - releasing, and then tensing again, like he had chewing tobacco between his teeth. With a larghetto pace, Seth retracted his arms from between the bars, the shackles around his wrists clinging together and the fetters around his ankles crying the same cacophonous song. “I want…” Seth started before his words slowly died on his tongue. “...I will ally myself with you, so long as you release me from these walls.” His chains cracked together like a discordant sike as he let his hands droop limply before him. “Do you have the keys?” He rumbled, eyeing her with a pedantic, vampiric smile; softer and friendlier than his countenance before. He somewhat lured her down here with the murder of her husband, what good would it do to scare her off now?

Ariella steadfastly walked forward even though the prisoners’ lewd words gave away her presence. The long stone hallway had an odd echoing sound, but it made it hard to understand their words even though the words were loud. She braced herself to speak to the assassin and continued to stand tall even though it occurred to her that servant girls would have been more frightened. She had last seen the assassin surrounded by guards being brought to he prison. She had observed from a very far distance at William’s discretion. It had been hard to see him amidst the armor and weapons. As she looked at him now she noted his raggedy clothing, barely presentable for being in her presence. Her mind searched back trying to remember if his clothing had been this bad when they first captured him. While she imagined that it would be depressing, the food was bad, and the company nonexistent in the dungeons, the assassin was not allowed enough physical freedom to get his clothes that tattered. She had underestimated how rough life could be in the dungeons.

She hesitantly extended the tray unsure if he would take it. Her eyes studied him while he wolfed down the food. As he moved the fresher food around it stirred up the delicious fragrance. She wasn’t sure if it was as high quality as her normal food, but it would certainly fill an empty stomach like her own. She noted that even if it might be basically seasoned it was cooked well.

She eventually started to try to get down to business. She was not sure the best way to keep his attention and get his respect, so she tried to be upfront and honest. For someone trained in diplomatic negotiations she fumbled her way through not going through the conversation in a logical order highlighting to herself and Seth that she had not thought this through. If she had waited, she may never have taken action. He ignored answering if he knew who she was. She almost repeated herself wondering if he hadn’t heard, he didn’t want to answer from ignorance or he was playing a mind game with her, but decided to wait before she began blurting out more words. It was better to be the one with more information in negotiation. She had already given him plenty causing her to feel stupid and small in his eyes. She almost flinched as the fragile utensils and dishes clattered to the floor.

Her head cocked as she waited to hear what he wanted. Last minute he seemed to change his answer cutting off what was spilling out of his mouth. Her eyes narrowed very slightly, but she didn’t push. It felt like she had fallen off of a cliff onto a ledge and below her she assumed were jagged rocks, but the mist was covering the bottom. She didn’t know exactly what would happen if she mistepped, but it was frightening and dangerous. She had fallen onto a ledge beside a coiled snake who had no use for her other than she had limbs available so that he could get a ride to freedom. The snake might not have his limbs free, but he certainly had a poisonous venom. He could be fast and she didn’t know how to counteract him. Her mind was still clouded with grief and pain. She felt consistent throbbing in her temples even though it had been a few hours since she had cried. Could she even admit to herself that she was thinking rationally? If she took more time to think about working with him would he still be willing to work with her? A shaky feeling spread through her body, but she decided that she had to try. She would start the precarious climb back to the top. What else was she going to do with her miserable life?

“Do you have some semblance of a plan? I’m not freeing you for you to get both of us in trouble when you get caught again,” she blustered, trying to disguise her unpreparedness and lack of planning. She searched her mind trying to remember where the guards kept the keys. She could sneak off and get it instead of experimenting with her hair pins trying to get the lock unlocked. She cringed at the vision of not being able to get his cuffs unlocked and admitting that she wasn’t a hundred percent sure where the keys would be. Perhaps she wouldn’t explain where she was going. She would come right back…hopefully. If she didn’t get caught, distracted, or put to work elsewhere. Looking at him, she was certain he would scoff at her or derride her for overlooking such a basic part of escape. “Besides, I thought you would have an idea for how to escape. I can’t go walking up to guards to get keys to high profile prisoner.” She raised her brow challengingly. If she couldn’t defend she would try to distract with an offense.

She smirked when he finally answered her. He wasn’t as stupid or oblivious as she had expected him to pretend. Of course he knew she was the Empress. He would have been stupid to be a criminal in her country and not know who the rulers were. While the words he said about loyalty were what she had wanted from him, she realized now as those smooth words slipped out of his mouth that if he had been harsher and more violent she would have believed him more. He was saying what he thought she wanted to hear much like everyone else in her life who had betrayed her. She would have had more of a tendency to believe him if he had told her that he would be loyal to her until something better came along or that he was planning to dispose of her as soon as her usefulness had passed.

She nodded once acknowledging that he was right about the rebellion. Interesting that he thought she wanted revenge instead of power. “You are very confident,” she commented on the promise he made. “You think that you are skilled enough to keep me alive?” Dumb question. He wouldn’t answer it again. William hadn’t managed to protect her and she hadn’t managed to protect him.

She considered letting him try to use her hair pins while she went searching for the keys, but she didn’t want him wandering around on his own wrecking havoc if he managed to get them to work. She sighed, “I didn’t get the keys.” She tried to think up a logical reason why to defend herself. “I wasn’t sure if we would come to an agreement and I didn’t want anyone to notice that they were missing. I’ll be back.” She trudged back the way she came trying to remember the way to the guardroom where she believed the keys probably were. Before she went in, she listened hard for any men in there. Once she went in there was very little excuse for why she was there. She found herself frozen listening to every little echoing sound. As far as she could tell there was no one inside. She needed to make her move. Ice coursed through her veins and paralyzed her to the spot. Her thoughts were circular and frantic. She couldn’t abandon the assassin or admit defeat without losing any respect he may have for her, and she wouldn’t have the assassin’s help if she couldn’t get him out. On the other hand, she was terrified of discovery.

Would she feel safer with a weapon in her hand? No. She wouldn’t be able to dispose of any bodies, and they would surely recognize her the next time they saw her. She would be certain to get caught. It was better that she didn’t have that option. She doubted they would try to kill a woman. However, she knew her freedom would become more restricted.

She forced her feet to move forward and poked her head around the corner. Somebody was leaving through another door. She backed away a little waiting to see if he would come back. She peeped around the corner after a few minutes had passed before she became paralyzed again. She crept forward and started to look for the keys. She was surprised to find them on a ring hanging by someone’s desk. Looking down at the desk she noticed some of the paperwork for prisoners. Thomas Moore’s paperwork was on top and Lionel Hadley was skewed slightly beneath. Thomas had stolen a goat, and Duke Lionel had tried tax evasion. She gently unhooked the keys and prepared to make her exit. She was a little disgusted how easy it was to steal the keys. Why were they kept in plain sight? Security had gotten lax and sloppy. As she was about to leave she heard footsteps coming from her exit. She couldn’t hide behind the desk because she assumed that is where he would go. She found a nook by a bookshelf and squatted down and hoped he wouldn’t look around or pay attention.

The guard sat down and flipped through some paperwork. Cold swept Ariella’s body and sweat began to bead and drip down her face and back. She tried to look his direction without moving any muscles except her neck and eyes. Her legs cramped up after she guessed five minutes had passed. She started to relax as he continued to not notice her, but she tried to remind herself to not let her guard down so far as to make noises or wiggle. At least her muscles relaxed from the tension of worrying about springing into action. Finally, the guard left again. Ariella readjusted herself and considered making sure she was in a more comfortable position. She also debated whether she needed to dash out regardless of the consequences or wait and make sure he wasn’t coming right back.

She managed to wait a few minutes before creeping to the entrance and peering both ways before she darted back into the corridor to Seth’s dungeon and walked quicker than she normally would back to his cell. She had the keys hidden in a pocket in her dress. She got more attention her second time back as they hadn’t expected her to return. She fumbled with the keys in her pocket and finally jerked them out. They clanked a few times as she shoved them into the lock of the cell. After furiously jiggling with the key it clicked open. She backed away so he could come out. “You can try the keys in the lock, but I don’t think it will fit. I also need to get these back. I'm not sure where to take you, but we need to get you out of here. Maybe you can hide out as a guard. Ready to go?"

“You are very confident,” The Empress expressed.“You think that you are skilled enough to keep me alive?” The zenith, he was familiar with it, not quite the airy, cloud-swathed sea above where a person could attempt to caress the sun between their fingers, but the mountainous pinnacle where all. was. right. He wasn’t just some blade-licking murderer borne from slums and grotesquely shaped trees - as is a common person’s imagination, run rampant with “beasts” of his nature, stroking poisonous apples, or crones declaring their beauty to enchanted mirrors…Seth had a life, charismatic grins which could command armies, not the bowls of writhing slop that soldiers slammed through the bars during their rounds. Seth was the head of a legion, a legion which splattered a slew of metallic red all over the empire - that mildly salty, tart sensation that would tingle across his tongue like ripples of spice, and spray across his dark, empty eyes as soon as his sword dove into the flesh before him, puncturing the life harbored inside of that vessel until the coruscation had deadened into shriveled, chasmic fog. It was a duty that demanded blood, waste…hell. But the rewards were cosmic. Seth. was. royalty. At least in the underground…

I am more than skilled. Seth’s voice echoed within his mind, and the fetters around his ankles sang together as he inched himself closer towards the shafts. No other man will have you meet your maker, I will vow that to you, precious Empress. Outwardly, Seth stared at the woman with a tasteful look, his lips dipping thoughtfully between his teeth as habitually as the golden-like flames tended to flicker, glowing like a fiery cloak behind the Empress as her tongue twisted what seemed apprehensively inside of her mouth; formulating the words she didn’t want to say: “I didn’t get the keys” The words tousled within him like river rapids…he had seen plenty of those within his lifetime - pressuring his sniveling opponents down, down, down into the surging current where their heads didn’t resurface and their wounds made the waters bleed. Simply put, if he had a sword or gun or even scissors to hold inside his chambers in purgatory, he would have attempted to slay the widow through the bars. There and then, her carcass would be pest-food, laid out in the dungeon road, the official end of the “divine” bloodline, unless the two were not fools and secretly, purposefully copulated, their offspring stored within some hidden city where he would have to pass through falling waters to get to…but that was beyond unlikely.

He watched her silently, watching her lips move and listening vaguely to the words sliding out, the growling of fire synchronizing with his grinding teeth, a sound which gusted directly within him like a noisebox installed inside his ears. Finally, almost before her words had fully receded into echoes, Seth spoke with a purr-like cadence, letting his voice coast through the iron shafts like a smooth glissade. “Make it swift or I may do something nefarious..” Like bang myself against the bars like an ape. With hollowed eyes, Seth gazed quietly at the back of her, clenching his jaw until he was certain his teeth would shatter like glass inside of his mouth. He kept his hands thrusted out through the rods, the shackles scraping against the center bar, groaning a metallic melody which, unsurprisingly seemed to garner the attention of the other creatures crouched inside their cells where even the shadows felt wicked. They were insects to him - crawling all over his walls and floors and flicking their mandibles together to create noise. Not words. Just noise.

“Who was that?” One croaked, “Is that pretty lady gonna free us all?” And another. “I didn't know they’d give ya special services down here, ey?” Seth maintained his mystifying silence, the reverberation of drawled out noise and opposing chain clinks and the rasping of bare feet against the ground, journeying through out the passageways in a channel of ruthless breath which could probably crust off the many layers of wall and brittle the bars like sticks of wheat. He tipped his head back, craving the moonlight which would glimmer over his shoulders should the tarp not be nailed over the only aperture in the prison, in his own cell where, if he were to tear the coarse, blanketing black away, let the strips of wild light spray onto him in weightless, relishing hues, he’d be torn away by all too gleeful sentry-men and punished with whippings to the back. “Was that fine little lady yer girlfriend, Seventy-two?”

Seventy-two. Seth exhaled, suppressing the bile which crept up his throat like hot, acidic claws. Had the Empress poisoned the food after all? Judging by her almost proud, but silly words of his plans of escape, and his potential failure, all of which were practically coughed up behind her fist, he would have thought her to be spineless, a woman who wouldn’t fucking dare….but no. It wasn’t that. Seth had been poisoned before, and the sensation inside of his stomach wasn’t one of wrestling fire, and the underside of his tongue didn’t go so numb, that even the pierce of a needle couldn’t evoke pain, what Seth was sickened by was the truth. “Seventy-two…” He rumbled thoughtfully with his dark gaze cruising lazily across the ceiling. “Seventy-two, huh?”, “What's that, Seventy-two?”A new voice cawed, and Seth could hear their shackles rustling against the floor. “Shut the hell up you old bastard!” Shouted another with a voice that made a person want to gargle water. “Don’t forget what that old man can do to you, Thirty-five! He’ll get a guard to gouge your eyes out!” Another man guffawed - the dungeons erupting into screams like man slaughter and loud, obnoxious howling that could twist a normal person inside out with terror.

“Be quiet.” Seth uttered, flicking his eyes towards the floor, past his cell bars where the Empress first stood, and where the torch light pooled like a half-bitten disk across the corridor ground. “Be quiet or I’ll be the one to gouge your eyes out. Every last one of you.” …When the Empress reappeared down in the dungeon, the silence was unnerving, the kind of silence that made a person wonder if all types of monsters were huddled eerily inside the jungle shadows, except the twilight leaves were iron and cement, and the monsters were encased by thick, rigid bars. This time, when she gazed upon his face, no longer was the arrogant, darkly charismatic smirk curving his lips, but perhaps something much more sinister. Seth didn’t quite know himself. He didn’t know what he was feeling inside, what eerie contortion he was currently displaying on his face that didn’t toll a heavy toll of death. Of slaughter. He wanted to slaughter every single insect who had a hand in his capture, in his otherworldly demise down in the blazes. He wanted to destroy the one who took away Seth Ripley, and created Seventy-two - the seventy-second prisoner to be executed down in the dungeons…the seventy-second soul of hell.

“Ready to go?" Miss Edevane all but whispered, her voice flowing through the halls like a cataract. “Seventy-two’s gettin out.” The men chorused, their words hushed and whisper-like, their voices suffused with caution and flecks of green, green jealousy. “Seventy-two’s gettin out, Seventy-two’s gettin out.” The dungeons chanted - echoes and croaks and croaks and echoes…in a soft, slow warble, like a warped carol thrumming through the croon of guttering flames. Then…finally…his cell door crept open with a sharp, sputtering groan. I’m getting out. …. “Empress..” He mumbled, an inauspicious smirk casted upon his face as pointedly as the torch blazes glistered hotly over his chains. He stepped silently outside of his cell, staring wordlessly down at the Empress with something ghastly strung inside his starless optics like descending webs. For a moment, he glanced down at the thick, rusty chain connecting his two wrists together, surveying it, envisaging her thin, porcelain neck trapped against it, by the throat until it was impossible to breathe.

The air felt dark, like some greater force had draped a damp wet-cloth over the flickery emanation, and replaced the air with sea. Drowning, he was familiar with that sensation, the absence of breath from your lungs where your shouts came out as gurgles and blurry bubbles. He had never felt like he was drowning when…not drowning. But here, the feeling festered, dilating inside his chest until he had forgotten to breathe. And then…well, then Seth obeyed her, taking the keys from her grasp and trying every single one to the tiny locks which, if any of them had worked, would release him from his chains, and leave a gaping presence around his appendages like cold air. He let the intense desire for spilt blood wade away like fallen leaves in a sliding brook. After trying the last key twice, Seth grunted lowly and tossed them to the floor with a petulant flick of his hand. “Let's go.”

The walk up the steps felt otherworldly, like perhaps if the palace were roofless, nothing would stop him from ascending up towards the heavens with his halo and golden harp…or perhaps more accurately - his two gnarled horns buried into his obsidian locks atop his head. The Empress padded before him, advancing towards the light which dazzled like his recollection of sunfall, twinkling down on him through the sylvan treetops, or the grandiose awning of his most favored, illegal weapons stall. Then came the clinking of boots, trampling down the first hall where the castle lights poured down in fancy, glowing rivulets. Instinctively, he ceased his movements, keeping to the wall which, not even a foot later, curved into a corner and snaked further down the dim passageway where the Empress was ahead, donned in a servant’s garments and tresses much too magnificent, even with the wildly misshapen waves for a royal, as such the consequences when a woman loses her beloved, but the Empress was simply too grand to pass off as a practiced maid, even for lowly, muddy knights whose voices bellowed loudly and carried around the corner, straight into Seth’s ears - though unchanging his stony, withdrawn expression, like a statue gazing timelessly down at both nothing and everything.

It was a lengthy exchange. For Seth, it felt as if he had stood against the wall for so long, he had subsided into it, and only then did he tear himself away when one set of footfalls beat down the hall in hefty thumps…followed by the much lighter padding of the Empress, whose steps didn’t echo fear, anxiety, or confusion, but…composure, even if just a tinge…Seth knew what to do. And right before the soldier could turn the corner and discover him, he slid into the open ways as swiftly as a blade may slice through the air, thrusted his hands forward, his frontal chain slamming against the man’s throat in an appalling spell of cacophonous, cackling metal. The soldier grunted, or more so choked, swinging his elbow into his ribs as soon as Seth maneuvered behind him and flexed his wrists into a much more comfortable contortion. Emitting an exhale that could just barely surpass his fiercely clenched jaws, Seth applied all of the rage that had been smoldering inside of him all the while, manifesting into hulking force that made his knuckles pale and his opponents visage pulse a deathly hue. And the only thing that made. him. stop, was the sight of specifically glowing keys that had teeth which looked as if it were meant for the especially shaped, chasmic openings on the underside of his cuffs. In an instant, he let the unconscious body plummet to the ground with a sickly thud and turned slowly towards the Empress, catching his bottom lip between his teeth with a look of throbbing excitement.

She stared at him looking him in the eye and observing his facial expression. “Make it swift or I may do something nefarious…”

His voice was calm and soothing. His face had become still as he tried to frame his face into a non-threatening expression. If someone was used to dealing with irritable people, his expression might even be called that he was trying to be friendly. Her lips slightly pursed forcing herself to maintain the eye contact. She was not fooled. She was losing the battle of first impressions, and she believed that meant he would be less patient and get rid of her sooner than he might have before she had the audacity to inconvenience him further and annoy him. “Would you do the nefarious thing before or after I get the keys?” she gave him a cheeky smirk. By job description and what she was asking him to do, all he would be doing was nefarious things.

She heard the voices as she passed. What would these prisoners think if they knew that it was their former empress passing by? Would they try to exact revenge? Would they be amazed? Would they be afraid of why she was here? What made them think she was here to free them? She had not stopped to talk to anyone. She let her mouth twist unhappily as the second question she heard from them seemed more likely to her. She had a feeling that Seth could acquire those special services they were referring to if he so desired.

72

Seth’s number. She saw that number again and again. They had made so many plans to capture him. They had been so concerned about what he would do next. He had been the most dangerous singular enemy, and she would not forget his prisoner number. She had passed some of the prisoners, but she heard a cacophony of shouts from behind her. She knew that it wasn’t guards hurting the prisoners, so it must be a conversation with the assassin. How did prisoners forget that one of their fellow prisoners were that dangerous? The rulers and nobles had still not forgotten. Perhaps, they had begun to underestimate him now that he was a prisoner.

When she came back with the keys she watched as Seth exited the cell. So many whispers. Would one of them tell a guard what had happened? She tried to keep him in her sightline as they made their way back to the regular part of the castle. She tried to keep an eye on him for weaknesses or hostility. He was held back by the cuffs, but she doubted that would hinder him too much. She decided it wasn’t worth going back to the guard room and returning the keys. Seth would get free, and he could potentially return them later or put them in another guard’s pocket when they weren’t looking. She heard footsteps and looked back at Seth. There was nowhere to hide behind them because it was one long tunnel. She kept going hoping that she could distract the guards or Seth would come up with a plan. She tried to keep her head up and walk normally. Her jaw tensed. She braced herself to flash a winning smile at a grizzled guard.

She went around the corner and almost bumped into a guard she didn’t recognize. She automatically dipped into a curtsey and realized she should only have dipped her head as the guard’s eyebrow raised inquisitively. He was not important enough nor the servant trained enough to be giving such a graceful curtsey. “What are you doing here? Who are you?” his voice was deep and gruff. She could tell from the way he moved that he was older and experienced. Instead of treating her like a silly creature, he kept his distance and was balanced prepared to move into action. “Sorry sir for getting in your way. I was sent down with a food for the prisoners. Everything has been in a disarray and someone just shouted at me to go feed them.”

“Really? Women shouldn’t be down here. It’s not safe. Many of the prisoners are…lonely,” his face was thoughtful as he tried not to use as crude of a word as he would usually. He could tell that Ariella was not the average servant.

“Well, it’s been a chaotic day. They probably were more interested in the food than me.”

The guard was about to let her go when he looked back at her. “I don’t see a key or a tray. You would’ve had to take the wheeled tray to be able to feed many prisoners.” His eyes narrowed suspicious. “The food isn’t that good. You are much nicer looking than the food they get.”

She gave him an imperious look. “That is entirely inappropriate. My appearance is none of your business. If that’s all, I will be going now.”

“Come on. I want to see which prisoners you have been fed. There’s no way you were able to feed all of them,” he countermanded gesturing for her to lead the way.

“Very well.” She directly looked him in the eye with a steely gaze. She had tried to spare him. He would get to see the singular prisoner she had gone to feed. She walked ahead for a few steps but managed to fall behind before he rounded the corner where she knew that Seth was lurking. Or…she realized he could have totally abandoned her. Oh well. She’d find her way out of this on her own if she had to.

As soon as he was even with the turn, she heard a loud clang from manacles knocking together. Seth was very efficient and never lost control of the encounter. She knew from watching that fights never lasted very long. Someone got the upper hand within a few minutes. Ariella tried to keep an eye and ear out for anyone else coming, so she could warn Seth to be quiet. While the fight was not super bloody, it was not silent. She watched as the guard get strangled and his body fell to the ground with a thump. “Too bad he didn’t let me go by and he wouldn’t be there.” Her eyes widened as she realized their fortune. “More keys. Do they work.” She smirked a little at his question. “Yes, yes, I’m ready. Seems you are pretty good at what you do.” She went over to the body to take a closer look at it. She wasn’t sure but she thought that she saw his chest breathing. “You didn’t hold him long enough to die?” She was pretty sure it took longer than that. “What are you going to do with him? I guess you could take his uniform and replace one of the guards at my door. It’d make coming and going easier. Just a few more stairs and we’ll be back to my room. I need to go get some stuff so it’ll look like I am helping myself get ready for bed. Do you think you could replace one of the guards by the time I get there or are you going to hide out and rove around this castle?”

“You’ll deal with the guard?” Whether he was alive or dead Seth would definitely have to be the one to deal with it. She was about to suggest that Seth sneak in and hide in her room, but she didn’t like that idea. Her room already felt like a prison, and she didn’t want to get stuck in there with the assassin. "Meet you there." She started back to the kitchen to get a little tea and an evening snack. She wasn’t sure when the last time Mary had eaten, and she had been up there for quite a while. She also needed to wrangle a plan out of him. What was he capable of? What resources did they have? What would it take to retake the empire?