Trivia

Character

History

Being born into moderate wealth and, albeit thin, noble blood opens a lot of doors for an inquisitive, quick mind. The subjects of history, philosophy, and the sciences were the sirens call; an unspoken invitation to become lost behind towers of scrolls and rivers of ink. The young lady blossomed in the lecture halls; her hands grew nimble in both a quill and a scalpel; and her tongue grew silver in the endless debates with her peers in the moon-dewed hours of the morning.

Under the guidance of her favored professor, her appetite for understanding grew. Her pursuits became focused on subjects not standard in the curriculum. Subjects only Professor Viktor and her selected peers discussed in terse whispers when all other souls had laid to rest. It began to change her. It started as a feeling. A hunger that gnawed at her; scratching and clawing at her mind to ask something.

Under the guidance of Viktor, she learned to ask the right questions: How do we ask for what we are not prepared to question? New tomes graced her library; scrolls scribbled in seemingly celestial design became her bed mates; words of a barely human langue filled her mouth. This new avenue of study gripped the young pupil like a vice, chaining her to her studies so fiercely she struggled to pull back from her books to breathe. The lady can barely recall the days before she sold her soul to the inkwell.

Surrender

It began on an expedition to the north. Another ruin; another promise of knowledge coveted by a people whose identity was so cruelly stripped away by the steady currents of time. DeRusé traveled with her companions with silence and the electrified air of anticipation. The lady, nonplused by the reports contained in the twine bound bundle that her hands now cradled gingerly in her lap, ran the footnotes over and over in her mind.

It breathes.

Those two words rolled through her consciousness, leaving her tingling down to the bone.

The site was chaos when the party arrived, but the scholars pushed through the sweating, swearing excavators. A cave in that morning had nearly ended their journey; just as it had ended the lives of several workers. Evalyn would have felt a dull pang of guilt for the laborers if her eyes were not transfixed on the narrow wound in the mountainside. A hole in the wall is still just a hole, but it beckoned her ever so sweetly with a cool, gentle draft. An unspoken poll was taken, and the warnings of the quarry overseer were ignored.

It breathes.

Cave-ins be damned.

It breathes.

If the ragged tunnels they traversed had once been hallways was hard to judge. Still they pushed further into the dark. The narrow fissure the party had crawled through opened into grand chambers so immense and dark the light of their torches struggled to lick the gloom away. DeRusé idly thought these chambers resembled a cathedral, and how fitting a comparison for the subject of her worship.

Hours stretched on and the party had yet to rendezvous with their colleague responsible for the find. The air grew hot with the scholars irritation, and their perspiration sizzled on their skin as they delved deeper into the dark. Then, there it was. The figure was a struggle to identify at their distance and the dim, dying flames of their torches did little to illuminate the figure that seemed to swat the offensive light away.

It does breathe.

All concerns about the fate of their peer extinguished as the group formed a semi-circle around the kneeling figure. The flesh beneath its paper thin skin squirmed and roiled under the torchlight, veins of black snaking around a box the creature had draped itself upon protectively. Introductions were made.

It breathes, yet says nothing.

Viktor rounds the figure to seek the beings eyes. His hand gently nudging the pallid flesh between apologies before jerking away. The features of his weathered face contorted with terror.

It does not breathe. It is infested.

DeRusé cannot recall how she found herself outside of the site. In fact, she cannot recall the identities of her once cherished friends. All she does know is that she now owns a most wonderful box that whispers the most horrible, tantalizing truths. The relic rests in her lap, cradled gingerly by hands with black veins.

Drown Yourself In A Circle Of Stars

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