This is how I Disappear (Silver)

[Lady Knives]

Only a sliver of light peeked over the horizon as a group of mortals dressed in ridiculous, bright and gaudy robes danced around a large bonfire. Musicians circled the fire, playing loud, eastern flavored music as the people danced. A young woman cloaked in darkness was perched in a nearby oak, whose branches reached toward the sky and outward like mother earth’s demented and broken fingers. Knives could hear chanting, which floated through the air like so many particles of dust, and settled after a few moments, then started back up again. She did not understand the language, and as far as she knew it was some sort of indigenous gibberish that was irrelevant to the rest of the world. ‘Witches? Wizards? What could they possibly be?’ She pondered, her eyes closing as she took in the exotic sound of the violinists sweeping their bows lovingly across the strings. The sound enveloped the area, but only as far as a mile, maybe even less.

A medium-sized leather notebook was laid open gently across her lap, a high quality ink pen gently gripped by her fingers as she silently took down notes about what she saw. The atmosphere of this night was calm, and the air was cool, and a slight mist hovered over the ground. A spicy musk enticed the young heiress’ nose as she took in a deep breath, her eyes coming to rest upon a certain young man. His eyes were a sweet, spring green, his hair was ebony, long, cut scruffily to the point where it framed his face, and his skin was slightly sun touched. His slender fingers gripped a beautifully crafted violin, which he strummed fondly and joyously. She could tell that he was experienced, for the sound that sprung from the strings was as lovely and as charming as a full string cortet. As the boy looked out into the foliage where Knives sat, the fire flickered in his irises, making his gaze almost hypnotic. It was as if he knew she was there, but she knew that was impossible.

The ink had stopped working in the middle of scribbling down a note, and in response to this the demoness ran her finger over the fine golden blade of the pen. A slice appeared on her finger, and seconds later came the black, ink-like substance—her blood. “Hn.” She cooed softly, bringing her finger up to her lips and allowing it to slip passed. Running her tongue over the cut, she tasted the all-to familiar bitter sweetness of her own blood. It was as if it caused a chain reaction of thoughts, for her eyes darted from the unfinished sentence in her notebook to the violinist’s neck, whose skin was supple and young, and the blood beneath as sweet as cherry filling. Shaking her head, she scolded herself for thinking such things, and instead of staying any longer than she needed, wrote a few more notes down, and then got up to leave.

Once she returned to the run-down inn that she had passed earlier, she moved to the side of the door, making sure to note the name of the place for future reference: “Brazenberry Inn.” A half-smile pulled up the sides of her pale lips, but as soon as the Inn’s door opened her expression faded into nothingness once more. Her cloak was drawn about her, and her scarf was tied around her head, which made her face impossible to see in the darkness of the inn’s towering shadow.

“Why hallo thar stranger! Would you be lookin’ for a place to rest yer weary head tonight?” A tall, stout man addressed her pleasantly as she gazed at him from underneath her cloak. She was used to the way these mortals spoke, for most of the realms she visited, their language and accent were typically the same.

“Yes, infact I am.” She responded, her voice soft and low, as she had no need to speak as loudly as this man believed he needed to speak. “I’ll have the best of the rooms you have.” As she spoke, she grabbed a small, dark brown leather pouch of coins from a pocket inside of her cloak, and handed it to him.

His squinty eyes lit up with delight as she did this, and momentarily he held the Inn’s door open to her and followed her in, trailing and then scooting around to the back of the front desk. She sighed softly at his antics, watching him fondling the pouch greedily with a goofy, town-idiot worthy smile on his face. He fetched the key from a ring on his waist and handed it to her, bid her a good night, and went on to count the beautifully crafted gold pieces of currency.

Silently she made her way down a few hallways, and then up a flight of stairs to the top floor of the three-story building, and found the room she was looking for. Upon entering a sigh of relief escaped her lips as she padded gently down the small hallway to gaze into the large, open two-roomed suite she had paid for. Of course, she didn’t expect it to be fantastic, and of course, it wasn’t, but it would do for now. As she walked passed a desk with a lamp lit dimly hanging from a metal plate on the wall, she slid her notebook upon the desk, traveling to the bathroom where she saw a large, porcelain tub. Smiling as she saw this, she moved over to a small stove and a large faucet from which she could draw water from a well and some piping coming up through the floor. She would draw herself a nice, hot bath, and she would relax.

When she was done filling the basin with water, the only dilemma she was faced with now was heating the water. “Mmm…” She purred, biting at her fingertips and allowing the obsidian liquid which made up her blood to drip into the water, swirling, popping, and hissing for a few moments before steam rose up in lazy tendrils from the surface of the water. She drew the blood from the basin and disrobed, sliding into the near-scorching water of the tub and closing her eyes.