"What's my name?" He queries, his hand snaking its way down her body.
"Alpha King," She breathes, her voice becoming slightly hitched, "Caliban."
+ + +
IN THE IDES OF WINTER, when death reaps all that has been sown, Kore is chosen as an Althieme, on...
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SLEEP DOES NOT COME
and Kore does not seek it in the confines of the unfamiliar chamber. She knows she will not sleep upon its foreign floors, swathed in ivory and gold, and that even if she were to try, she would dream of Iomeda and Callisto and how quickly she lost them both.
The room, sculpted from silver and stone, is a beautiful mirage. At its furthest end, a bed sits, its frame crafted from mahogany and bearing intricate motifs. Kore peers closer, making out the lines of entwined roses and thorns, a design that spreads to the heights of its headboard. Silken sheets, the color of freshly fallen snow, pool over the mattress and upon them, plush pillows in deep shades of burgundy and emerald lie. A dresser is nestled in the chamber's corner, its insides coveted by two sprawling wooden doors, each identical to the other. While the bed frame bears carvings of nature, these doors bear carvings of fauna. Creatures Kore has never seen, and she absentmindedly runs her fingers across their detailed depictions. One of the creatures is avian, its wings thin and fluttering, guiding a lupine creature that walks on its hind legs. It is not a wolf Kore recognizes; its stature is strange, and her brows furrow at the image of how large it appears to be and its alarming familiarity with man. Behind it, a vast array of beings gather: children with strange eyes and shadows with featureless faces. A strange imagination has designed them, and Kore can't decide whether she should be inspired or disturbed.
Her gaze flits to the other side of the room, towards the desk it keeps and the stool that peers from underneath. The desk is beautiful, crafted from the very wood Kore is sure the bed and the dresser are made of. Its surface is as smooth as glass and polished to a mirror sheen. In its reflection, Kore can make out the warm light that bathes the room and the image of its unwilling guest. It is a gilded cage, and though it is alluring, she knows its allure will not last and that she, too, will be no different than those who came before her.
With a deep, steadying breath, Kore lowers herself to the stool. Its simplicity, a stark contrast to the chamber's splendour, piques her curiosity and she grabs it, gauging its weight. It is light, the wood sturdy, and though it is naught but a piece of furniture, Kore is sure it has potential when she stands, looking at the jagged borders of the hearth. And though Callisto's words resound in her mind, reminding her to abide, Kore knows she has never been one to listen to others.
