Black Browed Night

4th Aeon - Rule of Sycorax Chapter Five

Staring down towards the procession of the newest arrivals to Illyria, my gaze caught sight of one in particular. One man that cradled a young child. So weak and innocent, unlike the rest of them. For only male criminals were brought here, and the women served a higher purpose to what my children needed. A mother is always self-sacrificing, the matriarchal martyred.

Sensing my eyes upon them, the father, that I believed him to be, gazed up and bright emerald eyes shone with some expectation and knowing. Such hatred, such detachment to the world around him, boiled in the emerald depth and shined like a fae, that I was struck by his own frailty. Was this truly a fully-fledged mortal? If such emerald eyes were mortal and had the determination to bear my stare, then surely their hearts within too could last longer than the majority of the men I was exposed to choose from. Once again, I was in need of a replacement for the decrepit state of my withered drooping body. Or just another ploy by Oberon to gain a spy into my fortress. And the child? It wasn't Oberon's style to use the young for his needs. The child too gazed up, following her sire's view. Interesting. They were interesting. A child as young as she hadn't graced Illyria in living memory in the Blood Accords. My children would be pleased for this one to raise as their own, for she was quite pretty with striking features.

Setebos stirred as I watched the two marches with the rest of the ordinary, sharing our mind's eye to view the luminous emerald eyes. Interesting, he whispered, prompting a stretch of my aura towards the approaching human stock. Our target being the emerald eyed male, but instead of the usual empty void-less vessel, a wall thick and steadfast blocked our entry to his mind. That, too, of his daughter.

I woke at the sensation of a new magical being. "Is it a fae, Setebos?" I tried again to pierce through the barricade to no avail but the glaring eyes of emerald at his ground level. "Has Oberon sent a spy?"

A flare of fire shot out through my stretched aura to my temples, forcing a fast build of some defence. Shoving back against the mental gravity, the pressure left once all my essence returned to me. The mortal male smiled grim and tucked his daughter tighter to his chest, continuing through the castle at the behest of my children.

No, but he's not fully mortal. Be careful, my love, Setebos cautioned me.

Nodding to his suggestion, I readied myself for this new threat. In the corner, my gown was ready, steam pressed and fragrant with all the spices that Illyria possessed. Proof of our domain littered my chambers, a far cry from the dismal cavern we stayed in hiding too long. Though breathing in such scents tingled memories and visions from my childhood, I quickly blocked them from view. The constant nagging of my younger sisters filled the warm glade air, with the stunning backdrop of meadows and forests full of prey and willing servants. Predictably, my first mortal love twisted the memory to unfavourable darkness and soiled my fondness into hastened need to forget. But I knew I was in the place I wanted to be, not the fairy kingdom. This was my home. My creation.

But I still wasn't fulfilled, neither was Setebos. Our vows still remained uncompleted to each other. Nevertheless, our anchor of love was still steadfast and solid. We still hungered for each other; only the physical was left to conquer. A disturbance at my door alerted me, and flicking a hand towards the door, it opened. Caliban strode in.

"All is prepared, Mother. There are no sightings of the rebels or Oberon's forces."

"Good."

Ordering Caliban to leave, I left the cool, nourishing milk of my bath. Situated against the window, I dried and dressed into the opulent image I was so worshipped for. Tonight was the Hunt. The night my children would feed glutinously and for me to have a new heart, another lifetime spent by another's expense. Oh, I was greedy. But it served a higher purpose. For if I were gone, who would rule Illyria? And to keep the disgusting relation of my race, quietly disposed, the Fae would never reclaim Illyria. Yet even on this sacred of all anniversaries, Oberon still threatened my rule. Unfortunately, my children would have to wait for their feeding as the battle with our common enemy loomed, and I prayed the final decisive one. To end the Fae.