Ismene Blackspire

Inviting Yourself In

She appeared in his bedroom like a specter of death, so quickly that even as attuned to the shadows as he was, Vanaal only had time to roll from bed and grab his daggers before she moved. The apartment was warded, of course — but Ismene had made some dark bargain for that magic of hers, and wards generally did little good against her machinations. Years of devoted study even before the Fall had made her more adept than Vanaal, who used it purely as an art to further his current trade. Thankfully, the lanky woman seemed to have no interest in killing him. She stalked to the bed, laying down in the empty space on the side closest to the window. Ismene’s arms stretched over her head, fingers curling. But though she tried to hide the disfigurement of her features as she luxuriated like a cat, the deep scars across her face and throat were plainly visible in the moonlight.

Somehow, he didn’t think she would forget who gave them to her.

“What a nice daughter you have.” He blinked, once, and she offered a smile that was all teeth. A sure sign she knew the topic would surprise him — and set him off-guard, as most things with Eleeria did. “She’s so....lawful.”

Vanaal jerked his head to indicate that Ismene should get out. “She wasn’t raised that way, and I doubt she is any of your business.”

“Oh, but she is!” Ismene sat up, refusing to leave as requested. Looking over her shoulder, her eyes roamed the mostly nude man who still clutched weapons behind her. Whatever she saw, she seemed to appreciate. “Help me take off my blouse? It has all sorts of buttons down the back.” Worn specifically for this purpose no doubt; Vanaal paused for a long moment, and Ismene gave him another toothy smile.

“You aren’t invited to spend the night.”

“Oh, I never am. You always make up some excuse: your wife, your child, work.” She began to undo the white buttons herself, working slowly down her back as she kept her green eyes on Vanaal. “Well, your wife is long gone, and your child is an adult with a child of her own now—“ Vanaal stiffened in surprise, which made her smile, but she pressed forth. “—and it is three in the morning. Work is a memory best left for the shadows of falling sun, not rising sunrise. I know for a fact you were out on a job until an hour ago. Come to bed with me, dalah’surfal, and let me whisper poison in your ear.”

“Kim’jael, your words are already poison.” He paused for only a moment more before relenting. Putting the daggers back on the bedside table — Ismene did not truly seem in a murderous mood, more a playful one, if at his expense — Vanaal climbed back onto the bed. Deft and callused fingers undid the multitude of white buttons stretching down her back, as Ismene sat with chin raised high, hands holding her long, golden locks out of his way.

“You didn’t know about the grandchild.” Her voice was soft, as regal as the pose she had adopted to allow him to disrobe her.

“No.” The shirt slid off of her body seamlessly, and Vanaal’s arms wrapped around her torso, burying his nose in the crook of her neck for a long moment. “I’m certain her adopted mothers have hidden the child from me as well.”

“Adopted, not real. Could never be real.” Her eyes watched the window near the bed, fel gaze tracing the outlines of the buildings in the Exchange. “I think you should stop pretending your daughter doesn’t exist.”

“Let’s stop talking about Eleeria—“ his hand trailed down Ismene’s navel, already working on the buttons to her pants, before her pale hand covered his. Shadow magic curled about her fingernails like a second skin, digging into his flesh painfully.

“No, let’s do.” She looked over her shoulder, frowning. “I want that grandchild. I want her raised in good family traditions. I do not trust Eleeria to do it without guidance, because you have driven her away to some ridiculous fantasy of being a beacon of light.”

“She gets that from you.” He winced, as those claws of shadow dug into his skin, drawing blood.

“Silence.” When no further objection came, the claws retracted; Ismene offered a smile, overly saccharine.

“Get me Eleeria. I think it’s high time she had a real mother, don’t you think?”

Vanaal nodded. His eyes never left Ismene, the tension palpable only inches from one another. Finally, she took her hand off of his, waving for him to continue.

“I hate you, filthy bastard.” She somehow managed to say the words with force, even as his hand dipped between her legs.

"Shut up, whore."

Ismene's laughter was only drowned out by the rough meeting of their lips.