Standing Stalling, Always Falling (private) (Mature)

[Anonymous]

((OOC- sure! ^_^ I'll have Bray wonder over to poor Timor here. Should be interesting to see them interact in such a place!!))

Braylinn forced himself to relax; panicking would get him nowhere. 'Maybe I'm dreaming...' he thought, but instantly he knew that was wrong. This wasn't his dream, or a dream at all. It felt all to real, the sand under his bare feet cool and dry, each grain shifting as he padded across the vast stretch of land. Everything was gray, black, or white. Silver, mercury, coal, snow. Braylinn blinked a few times, holding his palms over his eyes. Something about being in this place made him feel frightened he'd never see another color again.

Braylinn became suddenly aware (as his palms covered his eyes) that in this place, he had form. He did not by any means look like a living thing; as he peered down at himself he realized he could see right through. His skin was a pale snowy gray, like highly polished silver, like white-gold. His hair was the color of milk, still darkened with dry blood in spots. There were no other wounds visible though, but Braylinn still wondered about his eyes. He had spent to long starring at the empty space where they had been, he didn't think he could handle feeling nothing where they should be; still, his hands itched to check. He reasoned out that if he could see, and if covering his face with his palms blinded him, he must have eyes.

At least in this plane, anyway. Braylinn cast no shadow on the ground, his form gleaming with a dull spectral glow. He turned around in a few slow circles, taking in the area around him, trying to catch sight of a single familiar thing. Panic bubbled up inside him but he tried to force it down, knowing a fit of hysteria would do nothing at all to help him. Still, the feeling rose higher and higher inside him, until the point he felt himself shaking. Bordering on breakdown, Braylinn finally spotted something (someone) familiar.

Silently as the specter he was, Braylinn drifted like a winter breeze to Timor's back. He watched the man for a few painful moments, his insides twisted with guilt as he watched Timor strain under obvious anguish. Braylinn wilted under the thought; it was all his fault. If only he had been more careful... Timor might not be suffering so.

"... Father?" he said after a long pause, unable to simply stand by and watch any longer. He wore a look of blue-somber sorrow, of guilt, of regret. It was painful to see such a strong willed creature coming to pieces. Braylinn tensed, the ghostly glow around him flickering like a candle that might blink out, as he waited for his father's response. He wanted to apologize, to plead Timor to stop what he was doing, to stop sinking into this darkness, to stop wasting himself as he was. Maybe, tell him it wasn't worth it. Maybe, tell his father he was afraid.

Braylinn waited in silence though, careful of Timor's state, not daring to spill such an elaborately painful river of words until he first saw how his father would react to him. Part of him was relieved to see him, the other terribly frightened.

[Anonymous]

"... Father?"

Timor paused, slightly unsure of what he had just heard. He was unable to turn around, not wanting to confirm anything. Timor found that he was trembling, that he was on his knees, hands clenched and causing the grains of sand to shake with the weight of his emotions.

That quiet voice, that plain, sombre voice, so detached, and yet even though it came from behind him, it couldn't be more far away.

Finally, Timor knew he had to react.

Getting to his knees with as much dignity as he could muster, Timor then stood up and with a deep breath, turned around to meet the sight of his ghostly son, so pale, so ethereal. That pitiful sight was enough to make him go weak again. He felt his pulse speeding, and hands go so clammy with sweat.

"Braylinn?" He whispered, but it was barely audible. There was so much emotion loaded in that word, so much pain. Even though it had been barely half a day, the pain of Timor's loss was already so great, so heavy that it preyed upon him like darkening storm clouds, swirling and becoming more and more charged with the second.

He had no outlet.

Reaching a hand out, a hand that wouldn't stop shaking, he moved it closer, attempting to touch his son's arm.

"Is that...really...you?"

But he stopped, just before he made contact, scared of what would happen. Would his hand just go through Braylinn? Was this even real, or was he just being tortured? Another nightmare sequence...were they just dangling the cherry against his lips, just so tantalizingly out of reach?

He gazed at the image of his son with remorse, with pale wistful eyes. The events of the night had reduced Timor to a mere shadow of himself. Where was the proud, dominant man? Where was the self-assured, clean-cut figure? He was so lost, but strangely, not afraid. Timor held faith in his magic, faith in his plans. Was this a last chance for him to change his mind?

((Sorry, short post!! I guess posts will be short whilst they interact, hehe! ^_^))

[Anonymous]

Braylinn stood as still as stone as he waited, counting the seconds (which was a poor substitute for counting heart beats, because he had none) as Timor remained dormant, not at all reacting to his voice. 'Can he hear me...?' Braylinn thought with a sudden shock of panic. It occurred to him then that perhaps this was not his father at all, and it was all just some cruel dream... It seemed ridiculous that he had not thought of it sooner, but this place seemed so real to him, it was only natural to assume that Timor was real, too.

Finally the stillness was broken as Timor stood, a great rippled shadow, trembling  slightly. Braylinn desperately wanted to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, but was terrified his hand might pass right through. He would hate how bluntly it would show what he was. So Braylinn remained still, his arms resting tensely at his side while he refused to move them, his pale-milk bangs fluttering against his face in a wind that wasn't there.

He tried to smile as he saw Timor's face, but it was a painful thing; a smile in a mirror whose glass was cracked. Even here (where ever here was) Timor looked awful, like the very life had been drained out of him, one drop at a time. Braylinn closed his eyes for only a brief moment, chilled by the irony of it.

"Braylinn?"

His eyes snapped open then, shot like sapphire-tipped arrows straight to Timor's face. He watched, hopeful and (remembering the 'tender' treatment of his heart, the grave digging) afraid as Timor's hand drifted closer to him. He too was dreadfully worried the hand would only pass right through, but before either of them knew the answer, Timor dropped his hand.

"Is that...really...you?" he had asked.

Braylinn nodded, attempting another smile, failing as the expression came quietly, sadly, watered down by more apperent emotions. It occurred to him on a wild whim that he could in fact touch his father, the same way he could in fact touch the ground. His feet were solidly keeping him from just sinking and sinking into the earth, were they not? And he could feel the sand, too. Braylinn thought it must boil down to concentration, because obviously, it wasn't impossible.

Gingerly Braylinn lifted a hand, his gaze fixed on Timor's. The hand flickered, was transparent and then was not, was broken with lines of static disruptiveness, and then was clear. Braylinn didn't watch though, merely tried to feel the air on his hand as he felt the sand on his feet. It was tiring even to attempt it; he felt as if a whole had been punctured between his shoulder blades, and all his energy was slowly draining out.

He paid in to mind, thought of nothing else, focused on nothing but Timor's expression. Braylinn tried to smile once more, reaching up and placing his hand on his father's shoulder. He could feel fabric, and frantic body heat. His smile broke for a moment into a shy real one.

He opened his mouth to speak, wanting now to say a million different things; To tell Timor not to destroy himself over this, to tell his father he was frightened of what he was doing, to apologize. To tell Timor he loved him. To say perhaps he should reconsider, and they should say goodbye. To tell Timor he wasn't planning on going anywhere, and he couldn't stand to watch Timor do this to himself for the rest of his life.

But then quite suddenly, talking became the second thing on his mind. Where he had felt sand he felt nothing, and suddenly Braylinn stumbled, sank very slightly, as if he was standing on water. His eyes widened in bright surprise, his hand on Timor's shoulder tightening as he tried to hold himself up.

'Concentrate' he told himself, trying to quell the sudden raising of panic. 'Just concentrate...' his whole body flickered as his hand had done, some solid and some not, the only constant, the only thing keeping him up, his hand clasped tightly on Timor's shoulder.

(( OOC- yeah no worries <3 interaction posts tend to be a little shorter cuz... you gotta wait and see how the other character reacts, ne?~ xD Also, Its up to you here to decide if you want parts of Bray to be solid or ghosty, cuz it's all kinda flickering at the moment :3 whatever works better for you <333 ))

[Anonymous]

Dear gods of the underworld, it really and truly was Braylinn, his son! His son! The amount of joy that Timor felt right there and then was so great, great enough to sink ships. This was a sight that he never thought he would see again, and Timor realised he'd been holding a breath for who knows how long. He exhaled deeply, and felt all the tension drain from his body. It was really and truly such a peaceful feeling that pervaded his being now; akin to a soft warm light bathing his atoms. Timor could only smile- he was capable of nothing else at this moment.

"Is that...really...you?"

Braylinn nodded in response to his question, but...something was wrong. Timor felt it creep up from his roots. Braylinn was faded. Everything about him had a faded, washed out look, as if all his colours had been deadened and muted. All apart from his brilliant blue eyes, which were two warm sapphires in the sea of grey. It was oddly disconcerting, to be met with those eyes.

Timor felt as if they were accusing him somewhat.

However, the arm Braylinn laid upon Timor's shoulder definitely didn't have an accusatory feel. No, it was solid, and real, and...Timor couldn't take it anymore. He broke down, letting the barriers go, and even though he cried not a single drop, his voice trembled, and the anguish was so clear in his eyes. His eyes, which were normally so neutral, which normally had the shutters barred to the windows of his soul, were brimmed with indescribable emotion. It was all he could do to keep his feet steady.

He clasped his own hand over Braylinn's, and squeezed it with all the love he had never shown his son before. It was a love that went beyond words, that transcended the years. Then the boy opened his mouth to speak, and simultaneously, his image began to shimmer, as if he were nothing but static.

"No, no, no, no!!" Timor cried, clutching onto Braylinn's hand, which was now beginning to feel less solid, less real. "No! Not again, I can't lose you again!"

And it was true. He didn't know how he would survive a second loss.

"I can't let this happen, Braylinn, I simply can't!"

---

Lily helped escort her father home, through the woods. There was something she wasn't supposed to remember, but she was too tired to pay much heed to the nagging thoughts that swirled around in her mind, as vague as fog. Her father seemed to have suffered something, but she didn't know what. Every now and then, she shifted, allowing him to lean on her shoulder.

"Dad, we're almost home now," she said, hoping it would get through to him.

What the hell had happened? And what had his cross been doing lying a few feet away from where they had fallen?

[Anonymous]

Braylinn's ears filled with static, the sound fading and swelling like waves. His eyes, the (only color left in his ghostly form) squeezed tightly shut. He forced himself to focus, to gather himself in the moment, the present. Tossing away all other thought as if everything was meaningless, he focused on the sight of his father's smile, on the feel of his hand. Blocking out all else, Braylinn slowly began to solidify; his feet to around his knees, his hands to his elbows, and his head down to his neck. The center of him was faded and transparent, even the solid bits flickering every few moments, like an image on a screen with bad reception.

"I-It's okay," Braylinn said softly, clinging to his momentary stability, "I'm alright, just... unstable." It occurred to him how ridiculous that sounded, 'I'm okay'. He wasn't okay, he was a ghost for god's sake! Yet still, no longer stumbling on solid ground, Braylinn couldn't help but feel his panic subside, little by little. There was a great electrical hiss and for a moment, a long silent moment, Braylinn shifted completely out of focus, nothing but static. The next, he was back completely. Solid, for the moment, in the realm of shadows. He drew back his hands and touched his own chest, his neck and his hair, confirming that he was all in one piece. Finally, letting out a long breath, he looked back to Timor.

It was almost ethereal; of course he had seen the man smile before, and of course he had seen him upset. But the sheer weight of his emotions now; the bright of his smile and the heart break of his trembling voice were almost unbelievable. It spurred the boy to somehow sooth such pains, as deep down he still solidly believed this was all his own fault.

His hand, which felt oddly cool having flickered out of existence under Timor's hand, drifted like a pale white moth, to again land on Timor's shoulder.

"Father..." Braylinn's hand trembled very slightly, his head tipping down, spilling ghostly white bangs across his face. Where had all his courage gone? Hadn't he things to say? Braylinn crumpled against Timor's chest, resting his head there and closing his eyes, drawing in a deep calming breath. He let seconds drip by this way, one of his hands still on Timor's shoulder, the other folded between their chests. "Dad..." he finally said, voice just over a whisper, "I've... I've been watching you, I have some things to say..."

--

The Priest could only nod, to tired to speak. His feet stumbled gracelessly as he leaned on his poor little daughter, clinging just slightly for some guidance. His mind too was full of only elusive smoky memories. He knew something horrible had happened, and thought perhaps himself and Lily should return to the church to be c lensed, after a little time at home to rest.

They had hardly been inside a minute when the phone rang. Lily trotted down the stairs after having just dropped off her father into his room, and snatched up the phone. The long curly black cored swayed as she listened, silent, her eyes growing wider with each passing moment.

"Dad!" she called, "It's the church calling! They want your help! They say theres a shadow approaching the church!" her heart fluttered frantically against her ribs, hysteria edging her thoughts. Shadow... why did she find that concept so horrifying?!

((OOC- feel free to ignore the little side plot there if you want xD I don't know it just kinda struck me so I thought I'd tack it on >_>;; ))

[Anonymous]

Timor's heart skipped a beat as Braylinn seemed to respond to his pleas. He felt his son's form solidifying, felt the flesh become warm once again. It was almost too much to bear. He could see just how hard poor Braylinn was trying; it was a look he had seen countless other times, but right now, the expression of concentration upon his face brought forth a choked sob from Timor's throat. This was a sob that he didn't try to suppress. For once in his life, Timor wanted Braylinn to see his emotions, to see his raw self, the soul exposed like a gaping red wound.

"I'm alright, just... unstable."

"How can you be so...optimistic at a time like this?" Timor spluttered, before he realised what he was saying. That had always been something of Braylinn that he had never understood. Braylinn always had a way of looking at the brighter side of life. Everything was half full, not half empty. Everything was sunshine and rainbows. Timor would play along, be a shadow puppet in this façade, but in reality he wasn't a very optimistic person. It was all just an act to please the townspeople.

Braylinn seemed to feel that there were more important things to talk about, rather than character assessments. Maybe he could feel something that Timor couldn't, like the sands of time trickling, ebbing away from him. Maybe time was almost running out here in this shadow world.

"I've... I've been watching you, I have some things to say..."

"I'm sorry son, for bursting out like that," Timor said, apologizing with the squeeze of his fingers around Braylinn's hand. "Please, tell me..."

He felt as if he was on the point of something important, on the horizon of a shining moment. Desperately, his eyes flicked to the curve of Braylinn's mouth, willing it to open and for him to speak.

---

The Priest jerked fully awake this time, shocked. What in the name of God was a demon from...from...hell doing here? He felt his body go tense, and immediately resolved to go and see to the problem. Snatching fresh garments, he hurried to his room and put on something warmer, before grabbing some items and flinging them into a soft doeskin sack.

Turning to Lily, he said in a stern voice, "Get some sleep and make sure you don't leave this building. I'm locking all the doors, and don't argue, this is for your own safety!"

This was too much for Lily to bear. First Braylinn, and now this...

She felt new tears welling up from her throat, and was trembling so much that she didn't even offer any resistance- not even a single word, as her father left and slammed the door shut. The screech of a metal key rang in her ears as the key turned in the lock, and then she was alone, alone with the pounding in her head and a heaviness in her heart.

At the church, a small crowd of wide-eyed, yawning people had gathered. Most of them had no idea what was going on, for they had been awoken by the commotion of others. Standing there blearily, they all looked like sheep, ready to be herded, or worse. That dark thought occurred to the Priest as he made his way there, pushing his way through to the front. He could sense the presence of something dark not too far away, and it was growing stronger.

Damn! He needed mages. He had no knowledge of magic that would help; nay, his faith lay with the power of the church.

"If only I had a Mordecai," he muttered under his breath.

Just then, he saw more people making their way here, but instead of despairing, his heart leapt at the sight of them. They were travellers, and had lodged here for a week or so. The Priest had been suspicious of them at first, when he had learned they were mages, but now, he was so glad to see them!

No words were necessary. Their eyes met, and brief nods ensured, to let him know that they understood what the problem was. They spread out, and formed a circle, and did nothing else but wait.

The demon, on approach, had decided that it would be fun to play with the religion of this place, but...he sensed magic types. They couldn't drive him away back to whence he came from, but they could severely annoy him, maybe even shatter him into a thousand fragments and he did not want that to happen.

The demon decided that there was a more interesting place he could go to. The man who had summoned him reeked of magic, and so it wasn't hard to follow the scent, to retrace his footsteps. In his vision, there was a trail of gloopy blackness. Iridescent rainbow patterns splayed upon the oily darkness if he turned what passed for his head to the side. Oh yes, he would extract his payment and then he would have his fun...

Suddenly, the demon faded, masking all traces of his own scent.

Echoing laughter rang around the churchyard, shivering the hearts of the townsfolk.

((The demon is going to go to Timor, causing him to wake up, so we're on a time limit here! Tension, tension...=P))

[Anonymous]

Braylinn felt his resolve crack just slightly; how could he have thought such wicked things of his father? The man was pouring his heart out for god's sake. He ached to instantly forgive all the wrong he knew Timor had done... but there was a tiny part of Braylinn that was still afraid; afraid this new emotional recklessness (and other recklessness) would birth a horrible disaster.

"Optimistic? I... I don't really know," he confessed with an out of place sheepish smile. Truth be told, he wasn't being optimistic at all. He was worried about his father, more than he was worried about himself. It was the same behavior that plagued him in life, the same behavior that ended up getting him killed.

"I'm sorry son, for bursting out like that."

Braylinn shook his head, his hair floating about around his pale face as if he was under water. No matter how solid he felt, he still looked quite spectral, quite eerie. "N-no, it's okay, don't worry," somehow Braylinn managed another fragile smile. He felt for a long moment like he was being torn in two; something of Braylinn's giving nature screaming for him to shun all else and strive to comfort his father, while the more logical side of his mind insisted it would be more helpful to everyone, his father included, if he confront Timor about what the man was planning, and what he had done.

The gentle squeeze on his hand near silenced him, near made him forget all he wanted to say and concentrate on Timor, but his father's words just managed to tip Braylinn's internal scale. He met his father's eyes for a moment, unblinking, before finally looking away.

"I've been following you since you.... you found me. I've seen... e-everything. I cant stand to watch you h-hurt yourself like you're doing, and... and resorting to such... darkness," he kept his eyes down, afraid seeing a painful reaction on Timor's fault might weaken his resolve. "I'm scared, dad. Scared of what you're letting happen to yourself... and what you... might do to me. You've lost all sense of moderation, or restraint and... I don't know where your limits are anymore." Finally Braylinn slowly lifted his eyes, bracing himself for Timor's reaction.

[Anonymous]

Timor listened to his son's words, and something like satisfaction blossomed in his heart. So it was true, then, the soul really did hang around for a short period of time after the death! The corners of his lips twitched in a smile. Soon everything would be alright. Soon his son would be back where he belonged. Timor didn't know if these thoughts showed in his eyes or not; for over the course of the meeting with Braylinn, he had slowly dropped all barriers, until his eyes really had become the windows to his soul.

Thinking quickly, he turned his attention to the rest of the world they were currently standing in. It was strange, but even though the place felt timeless, it seemed as if there had been a shift in landscape. Some of the great dunes must've changed, even though there was no breath of wind to sift the grains of sparkling sand from the tops of them. And he had never noticed the strange fantastic structures which rose up, like cacti, only they had a consistency that seemed more aptly related to driftwood. This could've been the place of a surrealist's imagination, for all he knew. It certainly wasn't a world that he would create, if given the choice.

"It's alright, son, shhh, it's alright. You don't have to worry about anything anymore," Timor said, drawing him closer to his own body in a gentle embrace to soothe Braylinn's worries. Closing his eyes, Timor breathed in the scent of his son's hair, paying special attention to the fragrance, which he'd never done so before. For Timor, Braylinn conjured up images of strawberries and warm summer picnics.

"Everything will be fine. I will make sure of it."

---

The demon had successfully masked his scent, and had been stalking the trail of it's summoner for the last few minutes. He was getting close; he could feel it in the coppery taste of the air. This summoner was all burnt out, he thought, chuckling with glee. And he owed payment.

The demon had a lot of fun imagining how the man would choose to pay him.

With another giggle, the demon dissolved, and reformed as shadows that swirled through treetops, disrupting the rooks and crows that nested there. The shadows gathered like mist and the demon's great red eyes blinked open. Up ahead he saw a lone mansion, at the end of this road.

[Anonymous]

Braylinn had been expecting an unpleasant reaction; not necessarily heart break, but anger or at least annoyance. But there was none, in fact a smile was creeping slowly across Timor's face. At first, Braylinn felt only relief. It was all he wanted to feel really, for he was far to tired to deal with any more emotional strain. But it became un-ignorable, that faint darkness that lived in Timor's eyes flaring up like a fire newly fed. Braylinn blinked away his surprise, his stomach giving a slight painful twist; what was Timor thinking?

But just as Braylinn noticed this, Timor turned away. He seemed to be examining the scenery, of all things. Braylinn's eyes unfocused and he pressed his palms over them, as if trying to block out an unpleasant thought. Had he imagined that look? Timor looked almost placid as he examined the odd landscape, no trace of darkness there... still, worry lingered in Braylinn like a stain of cold at the very center of him. Those scales within him wobbled undecided, part of him wanting to let go and not worry, the other terrified of what a dark look might mean as an answer to his worries.

"It's alright, son, shhh, it's alright. You don't have to worry about anything anymore," Timor's voice, along side with the sudden tender contact startled Braylinn quite badly.His hands snapped up as if in defense, but a moment later he began to relax, little by little, his arms nearly folded between them. His eyes hung just before shut while his fingers slowly coiled into the fabric of Timor's shirt. Still part of his mind babbled in panic, a swarm of anxious butterflies surging in his stomach.

"Everything will be fine. I will make sure of it."

How desperately he wanted to believe that. His grip tightened just slightly, while his eyes finally shut. Braylinn was far past tired, and a vague dizziness was creeping into his head. Gingerly, he rested his head against his father's chest.

"So... you're going to stop all this...?" the question came so freely, so easily, as if the answer would have little consequence at all. In the seconds of silence that followed, Braylinn couldn't even draw the energy to be nervous about what Timor would say. He only listened to the sound of his father's heart beat, telling himself what the answer would be. Telling himself this was all a bad dream.

Still, that look of darkness that had passed over Timor's face played on repeat in Braylinn's mind, skipping like a broken record, ruining the illusions he was trying to conjure up for himself. Braylinn told himself (and was not completely lying) that he felt only comfortable and protected in Timor's arms... and yet, his fear, his panic slowly pooled and climbed, like the sand at the bottom of an hour glass.

OOC: sorry I keep not controlling the shadow creature... I just keep wanting to see Timor's reaction before he wakes up ^_^;;; <33

[Anonymous]

"So... you're going to stop all this...?"

What did Braylinn mean, all this? All this what? Braylinn couldn't possibly know what Timor was planning, so he dismissed that idea, shrugging it off as ludicrous, even though he knew that Braylinn was capable of putting two and two together. Somehow, he didn't want to believe it. But there had been the clues...Braylinn had hung around after the...the incident. There were things he couldn't possibly ignore, and yet he did.

"Of course, of course," he murmured idly, not really engaged at all. Aside from the physical stroking of Braylinn's hair, Timor wasn't really with it. His mind was busy churning, churning away, coldly analytical, analysing the new turn of events. He was wondering about any ramifications; the psychological effect that bringing Braylinn back would have upon the boy.

In the end, he decided that the best thing to do, would be to put the boy under a spell, which would lock his soul away, but keep him conscious, if not fully alert. It would be cruel, but it would give the boy time to regain his bearings, to come to terms with this. For, any sudden sealing of the soul could result in shock that could cause much more permanent damage. It would be simply tragic if Timor could succeed in reviving Braylinn, but fail in preserving his soul. And faulty goods would always have to be returned...no! He wouldn't...couldn't do that!

Shutting his eyes, he shook his head, as if in pain. No, no, no, no! And then he gave his son a watery smile, as if to say that everything was alright. Should he explain what he was going to do? Looking at the innocence in Braylinn's eyes, he couldn't bear to see it tainted, to see him stained in Timor's own sin. But it was the only way.

"Bralinn, I have something to confess..." he began, but there was a sudden jerk in his lower navel.

What the...

There it was again. Hiding his pain, he tried to continue.

"...You're too special to me to let g--"

But he couldn't continue. The tugging was so strong, that he felt as if he would split asunder. It was as if there was a great earthquake, and he was the epicentre. Feeling the tremors grow infinitely large, the atoms of Timor's body in this realm began to vibrate at gigantic amplitudes.

"Braylinn..." he struggled to say. "...Bray..."

And then he was wrenched away from Braylinn's arms. The world caved in on itself; the sky turned upside down and the sand dunes all collapsed into a singularity. In the blink of an eye, there was a blinding flash, and the grey world was replaced by black emptiness.

---

Timor jerked awake, absolutely furious. He'd been so close, he'd had so much to say to his son, and the minutes had been stolen...by what?! Sitting up, he realised his body was drenched in a cold sweat, and that at the foot of his bed, something dark, something ethereal, something evil, was swirling.

"Why hello," a deep voice intoned, oddly sardonic.

[Anonymous]

"Of course, of course,"

Braylinn's mind hurriedly locked away all the horrible things he had seen over the last few hours, running Timor's affirmative response over and over in his mind. Timor had agreed, nothing wrong was going to happen. Braylinn clung to this idea, despite the fact that half of him was still reluctant to believe it. The idle stroking of his hair was an odd and fantastic feeling, adding strength to side of him that simply wanted to let go, and relax. Timor had not often been so affectionate before, so such a sudden showing of affections -embraces and tender touches all in the same cluster of moments- was quite startling.

Braylinn's gaze drifted up like crisp arctic fog, focused on Timor's face with a faint sense of kittenish wonder. He looked pensive again...thoughtful. Braylinn watched his father, who seemed to be wrapped up in all sorts of intricate plans. What could he possibly be thinking of, Braylinn wondered, focusing on the curiosity, rather then the uneasiness.

The sudden shaking of Timor's head spiked concern in Braylinn, and just as he opened his mouth to speak, his father spoke before him.    

"Braylinn, I have something to confess..." he felt as if he had suddenly been doused with cold water. He hardly had time to repress the feeling, to mentally scold himself for being so weak of mind, and instantly expecting the worst.

"...You're too special to me to let g--" each word seemed to solidify his secret fear. There was not even a moment to react, before the very world seemed to come apart at the seams. Braylinn felt only coldness where Timor's body heat had been, only blackness where there had been Timor's eyes, grey skies, and silver sand.

Again there came the odd sensation of blinking, and opening his eyes to a different place then he had shut them to. Back in Timor's room, Braylinn woke as if hitting the ground after a grave fall. To panicked to appreciate the irony of that, he floated up like a gust of steam, trying to get his bearings.

Timor was there, sitting on the bed with one of the fiercest looks on his face Braylinn had ever seen. At the end of the bed was something that chilled Braylinn to his very center; a swirling sinister form of black, a pair of rotten-red-apple eyes. No sooner had the boy focused on them, had they snapped up to stare hard back at him. Braylinn felt himself flicker, and shifted to the side, but the eyes followed him.

"You can see me...?"

In response the demon only extended it's black curling tendrils. They crept through the air like black ink seeping over white paper, moving toward both Braylinn, and Timor. The demon's movements were slow and liquid; perhaps slow enough to dodge, but it was not as if he was going to let anyone get away, in the end.

A sinister chuckle cooled the air while a few of the tendrils attempted to coil about Timor's ankles, the others darting through what appeared to be empty air. Braylinn moved like a quick silver fog, agile with fear, ducking and swerving from the reaching darkness. What did the demon want with him?

Slowly, the solid blackness of the demon was broken, as it opened it's mouth with a sinister grin. Yellowed fangs clustered together in his sharp jack-o-lantern mouth, and from between them hissed a dark oily smoke. It filled the room, chocking out the dim light from the window, making everything dull.

A white silhouette could be seen in the fog; thin and lithe, quick and agile. Braylinn watched the smoke crowd around him and etch out his form with a detached amazement. His feet touched the floor and the smoke parted under him, giving him a loose smoky outline.  A tendril caught a wrist, and then a pair, and Braylinn struggled to phase through them, like he could the walls. But it seemed the demon was not so easily escaped.

The creature gave another dark amused laugh, his eyes turning then to Timor, his jack-o-lantern grin widening.

[Anonymous]

Crap...Timor had forgotten about the shadow demon he'd summoned earlier. It had been done in so much of a hurry, and had been such a botched job that he couldn't quite remember whether or not he had set the terms of the summoning contract properly. Oh dear...if the demon was still here...then probably not. His stomach turned in a queasy uneasiness.

Dear lord, he hadn't offered payment!

Feeling slightly tetchy, Timor regarded the demon through suspicious eyes. He knew exactly what the demon wanted. If Timor had been stronger, then he would've fended the demon off with his own powers, and send the fiend running back to hell, from whence it came.

But, here he was, lying in his own bed, practically helpless.

The being had been staring at Timor, but then its attention was snapped up by something else, something Timor couldn't see. The demon's burning red eyes were boring holes into his wall, and at that, his queasiness increased by a factor of ten. Could it possibly be...?

The fixation was unnerving. Timor was about to say something, when the demon extended a misty tendril in the direction it had been staring in. It unfurled ever so slowly, uncurling and twisting towards...towards...

Oh god...

The darkness billowed out, engulfing the room, and swallowed up everything and everyone in it. Timor threw his arms up as a shield, but it was futile. He blinked, holding back a cough. His muscles were tensed up, but relaxed slightly when he realised that the darkness wasn't hurting.

Nor was it aimed at him.

Timor blinked again, eyes watering. He'd just seen the strangest thing, and not wanting to believe it, he rubbed his eyes, as if trying to wake up from a bad dream. But no...the white ghostly figure was still there. It was as if the sheer darkness of the demon had highlighted the presence of the stark spirit. Somehow, Timor's eyes wouldn't stop watering, and this time it wasn't at the rancid presence of the demon.

"Braylinn?" He managed in a hoarse whisper.

The demon had tendrils wrapped around the white figure, binding the figure in ropes of black, and had turned it's evil, evil face towards Timor with an awful smirk. It appeared to be mocking his misery, wondering, what he would do next. Timor could make out the figure's struggling movements, and his own face contorted in fury, as the demon then turned it's hungry head towards the white figure, opening its gaping mouth.

The implication was clear enough.

"No!" Timor hissed through clenched teeth.

No, no, no, no!

"You are in my house and you will accept what I offer as payment and then go back to where you came from." He tried to make his voice as commanding as possible, but there was no hiding the weakness, or the faltering quavers of his waning strength. Also, he was still sat upright in bed, hardly a position for a man of power to be in.

"Sir?" There was a timid knock upon the door.

Timor's face creased in a frown, whilst the demon cocked it's head curiously to the side. Even the white figure had paused in it's struggling. The voice sounded like Graynel, one of the servants of the house. This boy was barely older than Timor, and had only been recruited for two weeks, but already in that time, he had established himself with a circle of friends in the household. Timor's eyes flicked to the antique dagger that lay upon his drawers.

Curse his luck!

This boy would be missed.

But...the demon was making snapping noises with it's jaws now, snapping horrible jagged teeth that make his stomach clench.

Timor made a snap decision, and said, "Come in."

The boy poked his head around the door, saying, "Sir, I was wondering what the noise wa--"

He never got to finish though. Timor had picked up the dagger, and had thrown it expertly at the boy. It hit him straight between the forehead. A few drops of blood spilled, as the body fell with a thump. Breathing heavily, Timor wiped off beads of sweat and flung his bed covers aside. Swinging his legs to the floor, he moved weakly towards the boy and dragged him further into the room.

"Take your payment and go," he hissed malevolently, still breathing hard. There was now a dangerous look in Timor's eyes, an echo of darkness that still sparked somewhere within that body. The demon sensed it too. For, a man in danger always has a reserve, no matter how weak they are.

Bowing reluctantly, the demon released the white figure, which promptly became invisible again, and then the demon swept in for the body, shrouding it in a black mist. It turned red eyes towards Timor for one last time, mocking him, as if saying 'it won't be long before you join me' and then it disappeared, taking the servant with it.

[Anonymous]

What the hell was this ungodly thing!? Braylinn hardly had the energy to summon up any fear on his own behalf, yet the thing's smile was far beyond unnerving. Still, despite everything, he found himself worried more for souls other then his own. He was dead, after all... what worse things could happen to him?

Other then the damnation he already knew was coming, that is. Still, there were hardly a few moments in which he could be frightened of the great shadowy beast, for then it was Timor who frightened him the most. The knife seemed to sail in slow motion through the air, the sound of it cutting into that poor servant's head far too loud in Braylinn's ears. He hardly noticed as the tendrils slid off him, far to preoccupied with the sight of a pale wisp of a ghost, hovering just over where the servant's body had fallen.

Like Braylinn himself had been fresh after death, this ghost looked blank and mildly confused, looking around at the scene with a sense of detachment. The servant-ghost remained hovering over his own body as Braylinn starred in stark horror, turning his eyes slowly to his father. The boy's head hurt, the edges of his vision blurred.

It was all for him, he knew. The grave robbing, the black magic, the murder. It was all for Braylinn; the thought of it made him ill, dizzy, filled up with a sort of thrill that made him feel as if he would be sick, made him feel like he wanted to shout at his father to stop. Further and further Timor seemed to be sinking into darkness, and yet... Braylinn knew his father would only descend further, if it was for him.

'Should I leave?' he thought desperately to himself, 'If father sensed I was gone... would he stop this madness...?'

A look of fear crossed over the servant ghost's face as the demon floated over to him like a fog of blackness, his tendrils closing around the body, and the ankles and wrists of the ghost. The servant spirit looked panicked, his eyes turning then to Braylinn.

"Help m-me," he stuttered, as confused as he was afraid, "H-help me, help-" but suddenly, the ghost and the demon where gone.

Braylinn remained still for a long few moments, the temperature in the room dropping as his panic mounted.

He saw his father's breath etched out on silver puffs before he covered his eyes with his palms, his shaking having nothing to do with the cold.

"Stop it Dad... I hate seeing you do this, I hate seeing you.... become this way. Please, please... I know you're a good person, please stop..." he said.

Frost slicked the tall imposing looking windows. Words began to crawl through the ice in spidery letters; Stop. Please. Over and over again, ranging in size.

Without knowing what he was doing Braylinn was suddenly at Timor's side, his hands on the man's shoulders. His touch would icy, colder then the air or even the windows.

"If you keep this up you wont be able to turn back! You have to stop!" Braylinn urged, praying his father would be able to hear him. Always being one to worry more for others then himself, Braylinn was not used to the feeling that was slowly creeping over him; he was frightened, but for himself. The hysteria withered from his voice and he added quietly, "I'm scared... if you can do all this then of course... you wouldn't hesitate... bringing me back. And if this is the darkness that you're capable of... I'm scared of..." of what? Of being brought back? Of being under his control? Of seeing Timor sink further?

Or, was he simply developing a fear of Timor himself?

OOC: sorry that took so long >_< I went to anime north over the weekend... then I got sick when I came back ._.

[Anonymous]

There was nothing but sweet silence in that room, an echoing, ringing silence that pounded in Timor's head. He was still wearing that strange smile upon his face, the same one as he had watched the misty dark tendrils envelop the servant and disappear away from this world.

Timor pulled the bedcovers back over his body, and remained sitting there, leaning against the headboard and letting his thoughts drift. It was the calm of a muffled snowy day, when the snowflakes were spiralling all around. Thinking of snow did make him feel calm, and the cold thoughts seemed to be having an external effect too. With an almost dreamy look upon his face, Timor closed his eyes, and tilted his head, as if listening to the temperature of the room slowly cascade down, down. What was going to happen now?

As if to answer his question, the thin cream muslin curtains began to billow. Timor turned his head curiously towards the tall thin windows. How careless, he'd left the window open. All sorts of nasty things could've gotten in by now!

A gentle breeze had picked up, caressing the flimsy curtains to reveal a view that gazed out upon the wide, imposing grounds of his mansion, where fantastically sculpted shrubs and the bizarre reigned. And on top of it all, the disc of the moon cast the scene in her own brand of pearly light.

Timor sensed the frost appearing on the windows before he saw it. Maybe it was because he had been using his magic senses for such a long period of time, this night, but they honed in on the window like a cat on a mouse.

Stop. Please.

The words just kept appearing. At first, they amused him mildly, but then his face darkened and he got out of the bed, walked woodenly over to the window, and struck it with his fist, causing the glass to shatter. His hand was bleeding as he got back into bed, something Timor overlooked. As he fell bad into a broken reverie where he was ravaged by his conscience in the guise of dreams, the cut from his hand oozed red blood, which leaked and stained the bed sheets a deep crimson.

In the morning, well, afternoon, for Timor slept through most of the day, due to his fatigue from the previous night, the full horror of everything came back to him. In the stark light of day, everything seemed ridiculous, so overblown.

Could it really work?

And also, he'd forgotten about the missing servant, until one of the younger maids asked him where Graynel was. Slightly startled, his eyes were half-glazed as his brain turned for an excuse.

"He got called home. He won't be coming back."

What!?! Was that the best he could do?

Shaking his head, Timor went down, and tried to act as ordinary as he could, which was pretty difficult, due to his rough appearance- the shadows beneath his eyes, the sallow skin, and the general haunted look.

The ruined bed sheets had been replaced, and Timor had inspected the carpet until his eyes could've bored holes in them, but there were no bloodstains from Graynel either. The broken window would need more explaining, however he had a story conjured up, should the need arise. So far though, no one had ventured into his room, for no one dared to, whilst he still occupied it. Yawning, Timor felt his stomach rumble, and realised with a sudden pang, just how hungry he was. Especially from all that magic.

Tucking into a gigantic meal, Timor decided he would go out later and see what news he could get from the events that had happened last night. Maybe that would make things seem less surreal.

Had anyone in his household heard about Braylinn yet? Surely everyone must know by now. Were the looks he received ones of pity?

Shaking his head, he decided the best policy was to play ignorant. After all, no one had seen him leave his mansion last night.

((Am soo tired, so sorry if this post doesn't make sense. I'm not 100% happy with it either, like, the bits about everyone acting normal, so may change it a bit later! And am glad you're well again!! Nightshade has missed you lot's and lot's like jelly tots! XD))

[Anonymous]

Braylinn could only remain still as his father rose, phasing through him as if Braylinn had been nothing more then air. The sudden shattering of the window spawned a startled and intense fear in him; it was frightening seeing Timor suddenly lash out thoughtlessly, hurting himself and whatever he happened across. The significance of it was not lost at all on Braylinn, but he hardly had space in his mind to contemplate it, past the slowing growing fear.

Braylinn had never seen his father act in such a way, sure he was aware that Timor liked to dabble in dark and dangerous things, but naive as it sounded, Braylinn always thought that mattered very little. His father was a scholar after all, why shouldn't he learn? More importantly then that, his father was a good person... but that notion was proving difficult to hold onto. Still, Braylinn could not quell the tiny swell of worry as he saw Timor bleeding, unable to blot out his dangerously selfless concern for others completely.

It was a long time before the boy even dared move; he simply sat, head down, hands folded in his lap, attempting to quell this horribly hysteric feeling swelling up inside him. 'Run,' it told him, and as pointless and scary as that thought was, it also had it's appeal. It was painful to watch Timor hurt himself, and to remain in the line of fire. As the night gave way to morning and the morning to day, a mockery of normality cloaked the insanity of the previous night. The newspaper dropped at the front step spoke of Braylinn's death, and a smaller article spoke the graveyard's watch hound going mad.

Finally, a long time after Timor had left the room, Braylinn lifted his head. Without ever deciding to he had committed to leaving, and attempting to forget what sat frozen and dead in the depths of there house. He couldn't say he would leave forever, because even after death Braylinn couldn't shed how timid he could be, and he didn't quite like the idea of never returning. He was drifting down the hall, about to sink into the floor that would lead him to the main hall and thus the door (which he had no need to use, but wanted to anyway) when something caught his eye.

A door, his door, to be exact. Missing the space suddenly he drifted inside, spending a good deal of time looking at all the posters of dissected and zoomed in herbs he had created. Where posters were not covering the walls there were shelves, which were crammed to the breaking point with books. School books, mostly, but there was some classic literature, too. They made him think of school, which sent a tiny shiver of guilt through his mind. How many times had he lied and said he had gone to class, only to skip and help Lily with her studies? The girl was hopeless with some things, and Braylinn was smart enough to catch up... but it didn't completely excuse lying.

Braylinn shook his head, looking away from his shelves and in a blink of an eye, he was on his bed. It didn't matter really, because he couldn't feel the rumpled comforter, and he didn't suppose ghosts needed sleep... yet he was so tired, all he wanted was to close his eyes...

Perhaps he would leave after a little rest...

~*~*~*~

Some time later, the door creaked quietly open. Into the room crept a lithe male with thin spider-thread hair, coffee-cream colored skin, and a pair of silver-blind eyes. Bailey was one of Braylinn's servant's, and since the time of his hiring, it had been his job to bring Braylinn a certain kind of herb that grew very scarcely across town.

The elder teen paused in the doorway, letting out a long sigh. He had heard of Braylinn's demise, and yet old habits were hard to break. Bailey placed down the basket of fresh green plants just inside the door, about to turn and leave... when a blur of silver glinted across his blind eyes. Pausing, the servant starred into the dark room, his unseeing gaze settling on Braylinn, who was still sound asleep.

Bailey gave a small smile, oblivious to everything the spirit had been through, to him it appeared only that the soul of his young master was reluctant to leave. Slipping into the room, Bailey left the door carelessly ajar, and settled onto the bed next to Braylinn. The spirit left no imprint on the bed, but he was curled in such a way over the wrinkles of the sheets that it almost appeared he did.

"What are you doing hanging around here...?" he asked in a light voice that was too old for his young body. Lifting a curious hand, he placed it where Braylinn's head would be, shivering as goosebumps raced down his arm. "A-ah, you're cold..." Braylinn didn't even stir.

OOC: Again, really sorry ;_; forgive me T_______T Exams kill me ._. Er... don't ask about the random blind ghost seeing NPC, I don't know, it just popped into my brain xD feel free to do whatever with him....I kinda feel bad for him if Timor was mysteriously around >_>;; heeheehee. Also soon Bray is gonna try and run if he doesn't get anchored to a body soon, the silly thing xDDD

[Anonymous]

The evening brought a sense of calm for Timor and time for personal soliloquies. It was possibly the calm before the storm, who knew? That whole afternoon had passed by in a blur, just flashes of shouting, grief, shock, dropping things, and the visitors, all come by to solace him.

The walls of this mansion, which had been privy to so many secrets over the years, had never heard the voices of so many different people. A whole multitude, blending in one by one in a succession akin to a funeral march, where the people came to pay their last respects. And Timor had to put his public face on, and greet them all with polite courtesy, when deep inside he wanted nothing more than for them to all get the fuck out of here. Many a time, he found himself taking a deep breath, and practising the breathing techniques from the mountain arts he had picked up from various circles. Finding his middle point, and the ground where he could place his both feet firmly upon, he strengthened his roots and then it was evening.

And here he was, out on the rooftop balcony of the west wing. Both hands gripped the black iron railing with an intensity that turned his knuckles stark white, betraying his outer exterior. He wasn't really watching the blood red sun dip beneath the horizon. Whilst his face appeared passive, if one gazed into his eyes, past the white flecks, the signs of the taint upon his soul, they would find a blizzard of passions inside, some too dark to voice out loud.

As he paced about restlessly, he couldn't help but wish the time would become more fluid and run faster. The ritual had to be performed by twenty four hours afterwards, otherwise it would be too late, and he would only have an empty shell, which would no doubt be a perfect host for some demon to seize and take hold of.

At last, the sun disappeared, and the chatterings of the mansion subsided for the night. Luckily for him, Timor hadn't been approached very often by the servants today, out of respect so he knew he wouldn't be in any danger of being discovered. However it still made sense to be cautious. His actions were like a sleeping time bomb in this town, just waiting to explode. All it would take were more slips like he'd made last night, and the people would put two and two together.

Stomach rumbling, Timor made his way down to the shadowy kitchens and rummaged around for something to eat. He needed to eat like a horse to replenish all that energy he had lost last night.

The people put it down to grief.

Timor's eyes settled upon a hunk of red meat, which had been bought earlier today. He grabbed it and quickly warmed up the gas stoves, foot tapping impatiently. Five minutes into the cooking, Timor grew so impatient that he seized the meat and just ate it rare. The juices ran down the side of his mouth, as the kitchen was filled with inhuman sounds of squelching, chewing and flesh tearing.

Timor wiped his mouth and glanced at the clock. He still had a few hours...hmm...best to get it over and done with now.

His footsteps clattered down the secret corridor as he made his way down to where everything lay ready, waiting for him. There was almost a spring in his step, and if anyone had been listening, they would've sworn that he was humming a tune.

Inside, everything was still where he had left it. Timor shrugged on a soft velvet black cloak, put on some gloves and then systematically began to lay all of the body parts out, as if he were piecing together a jigsaw. He was humming the same tune, a jaunty melody that seemed so out of place here. Every now and then, he would cradle a part lovingly and whisper something inaudible to it. There was an art to all of this, and from the looks of things, it would seem that Timor was extremely proficient in this art, that it would be hard to believe he'd never done this before.

An hour later, all the parts were laid out upon the great table, and four candles were burning brightly, one at each corner of the table. Around the dungeon, the flame torches had flared into life at the click of his fingers. Oh, he was juiced up from all that meat, and even more so from the anticipation of events to come.

The book lay before him, along with various other instruments and withered...things.

He was ready.

((Hehe Braylinn gets one last bout of freedom! Hmm...maybe he could try running away but it's too late...Timor is going to call his soul down, if its still nearby. And I have exams too, they are such a bane to my life! *points to red writing in Nightshade's signature* Grr! Real life sucks.))

[Anonymous]

When Braylinn woke he was startled to find a warm body silhouetted by his side; a black shadow edged in silver, cut out from the dark by the moonlight leaking through his open window. A servant? Upon closer inspection he realized whom it was, and lingered at his own bedside for a few long somber moments. Braylinn had been so consumed by the tragics of what was happening with his father, he had hardly taken the time to morn the loss of the rest of his life.

That was a little unhealthy, was in not? Allowing such obsession to consume him so, and blot out all else? Braylinn shook his head, attempting to scramble the thoughts. The loss of everything else would have stuck him eventually he knew, it just seemed odd to him that so much time had passed, and he had been grieving nothing but the slow decay of Timor's moral mind.

What time was it? How long had he been resting? Where was his father? Braylinn could hear no murmur of servant footsteps or quiet conversation, the silence telling of the late hour. He moved as if blinking, blacking out for a moment in one location and appearing in another. Suddenly, he was by the window, peering out into the calm silver night. It looked so beautiful, as if nothing so horrible had happened the night before. Slowly Braylinn looked down, and was startled to realize he could see through the floor, as easily as if it were tissue paper.

His sight did not come from human eyes anymore after all, why would it be limited as such? Yes, the night was calm, unlike the night he had died. But tonight, as Braylinn could see, something worse and far more unnatural was about to occur.

He could only make out Timor as a blur gliding about the basement like an elegant tattered-at-the-edges shadow. Panic doused Braylinn like cold water.

He was doing it? Now? So soon? Braylinn had the sick feeling of a racing heart with no heart beat. This was wrong; this would taint was was not yet tainted in Timor, he was sure. But what could he do to stop his father? He was a mere ghost in this world! Silent and wide-eyed in panic, Braylinn glanced around frantically, trying to decide what to do.

His eyes fell to Bailey. Could he wake the boy somehow? Could tell him-?

Braylinn remembered the smile on Timor's face as Graynel's body and soul where swept away by the demon. No, he couldn't send Bailey. Braylinn was truly all alone in what he would do next.

Maybe he could run, maybe if he got far enough what Timor was doing would fail. Maybe then the man would shed himself of his growing madness and learn to grieve like a normal person, and then move on. For one brief moment Braylinn felt fierce and horrifying reluctance to leave; his home, and more so his father.

'Look what the man is doing!' he scolded himself, forcing away the childish senseless feeling. No, he would leave, it would be what was best for both of them. In one blink-movement he was at the door, and in another, he was on the edge of the grand estate. One brief moment of hesitation flickered across his, and he looked back.

How many times had he watched bats flit across the sky at dusk, urging his father to take a break from his studies and join him? Where had those simple times gone? How had things changed so much?

It was during these musings the tendrils slithered hence. For one heart-stopping moment Braylinn thought it was that horrible demon... but these were silver, and these where coming from the house. Braylinn shut his eyes, attempting one more jump through reality that would take him far far away. For a long few moments he held his breath, slowly let it out, and dared to feel relief. He felt nothing, no tugging or constriction, so had he gotten away...? He carefully peeked open his eyes...

The tendrils had grabbed him without him feeling a thing. He was gliding towards the house now, through the walls, the wisps of magic hardly faltering against his frantic struggles. If only he had not hesitated, but now it seemed there was no escape! Braylinn forced himself to watch the walls as he approached them, passed through them, trying to battle his fear. He didn't want to see the conclusion of the capture; the basement, his father. But as he glided through the basement ceiling and the things pulled him down down down, it was so tempting to not just simply close his eyes, and pray for it to be over.

((OOC: I hope he comes off scared enough here... I dunno, I did my best, but I'm still brain fried from exam hell ;_; SO SORRY I'm being so slow ;_; I have such a not sane work load T_____T ))

[Anonymous]

The incantations had all been said, in flawless Latin. Only a scholar could've accomplished the task so perfectly. But, he was still weak, so would he have enough power for the ritual to be completed without any interruptions? Would anything go wrong? He supposed that he really shouldn't have been so rash in his displays of powers the previous night, but it was too late for that now. He supposed also that maybe it would have been wiser to wait until he had rejuvenated more of his energy, but yet again it was too late for that.

The only consolation Timor had was that he was such a perfectionist that nothing would go wrong. Whether it was by force of will, nothing would go wrong. He wouldn't allow it.

Timor snapped the book shut, eyes scanning the room greedily for any sign of change. Nothing happened at first. The room remained still as ever. A minute passed, of expectant silence. And then, the flames in the candles and in the torches began to flicker. Gradually at first, so that you wouldn't even notice it, but then, as the minutes passed, the flickering grew more and more violent, becoming spasms of wild torrential shadows upon the stone walls. They capered and danced, becoming corporeal reflections of the spirits, somehow representing the divide between one world and the next.

Oh the wonder!

Smouldering eyes opened and closed, and an unnatural wind began to whip up, but not strong enough to put out the flames.

Even so, Timor was growing ever impatient. Why was this damn ritual taking so long?! Granted, they always took forever, but this forever was taking longer than other forevers. He was on the point of getting angry and so almost missed the first slivers of silver mist.

The tendrils came creeping, creeping along the floor, and then rose until they were above the body parts, all of which had been magically sewn together. He could still see the oozy black 'thread' he had used. It was the 'thread' of life, the magic that kept the souls joined to the bodies. As in Greek mythology, he too could control fates. This magical glue would become absorbed by the flesh once the soul was in place, and would then act as a mesh, a prison, to seal the soul, to keep it trapped for however long Timor wished.

The tendrils had become a mass of silver now, a dense cloud. Before his very eyes, he watched the cloud struggle, trying to resist the pull of his spell, trying to resist being drawn in. But it was no use. It was a losing battle.

"I'm doing it all for you," Timor crooned, watching the despairing cloud sink lower, and lower, until it was touching the body. Still sinking, the silver wisps spread out, filling into the shape of the body before being completely engulfed by the hungry flesh. There was an exhalation, and the body seemed to shudder, before the black threads glowed purple, and locked the soul in. The flames stopped flickering, and Timor breathed a sigh of relief. It had worked. The ritual had worked!

Now it was the orientation period, the time needed for the soul and the body to come to terms with each other, to become one, and to readjust in this world. The soul would breathe life into the very blood of the body, and the atoms would once again spark with life. It would be many hours before the boy would wake up, and in that time, Timor would make sure that the boy's will belonged to him only.

"It's all for you," Timor murmured again.

Braylinn would be completely in his power, completely under his control, the way it should always have been. He would look up to nobody but his father. He would have no other thoughts in his brain that that of his father. He would worship his father.

((Sorry it's taking so long to reply! Exams are killing me! -_- Not sure if that was what you wanted – for Braylinn to in effect become totally under Timor's influence? Meh, things don't have to turn out the way Timor wants them... ^_^))

[Anonymous]

A human body had never looked so unnatural to him, but for all Braylinn knew the greying construct below him, the form that had once belonged to him, could be nothing more then a cold steel cage. That's all it seemed to be, all his mind repeated as he was dragged back, not one sliver of fondness for the body remaining in his mind. Something in him knew this was fundamentally wrong, but all his his struggling amounted to nothing. He had forgotten in later moments just why he was fighting; for himself, for Timor, for fear... he remembered only that he was fighting and that something wrong was happening.

Then, it was as if a great barred gate swung shut, and Braylinn heard the whispered words "It's all for you."

Braylinn had not known how used to be a ghost he had become. Yet, when real human sensation began to bombard his mind (the table under him, the warmth, the cold, the pain) he could make no sense of it. He sat there perfectly still, dumb, struggles forgotten as his mind worked on the most simple level, sorting out the storm of sensations. Something felt tight in his chest, the pressure mounted, until at the last possible moment something clicked in his mind.

Breathe. Breathe!

He gasped, eyes thrown wide open, and blind. Breathe... they closed again, and again the boy became still as a doll.

Minutes crawled by, five, then ten, then fifteen, all the while his mind working, his flesh warming faintly. It seemed things were going smoothly...

Braylinn's eyes snapped open. He didn't register anything he saw, his hands wrapping around his own chest, grasping his shoulders, grasping the threads.

He pulled. The oozing black lines were pulled taut away from his skin. It was an agony so consuming only the simplest tug pulled his spine into a painful arc, and yet he continued to pull the threads.

Moments crawled by as Braylinn refused to make a sound, to acknowledge anything around him. He could have sworn he felt the threads breaking, and almost felt relief. The threads were stretching from his skin, lifting from where they had sunk into his arms, his legs, and he struggled and tugged against them, like a fly in web.

Suddenly, bolts of silver, like petrified rain, tore into his skin. The boy flinched so badly he tumbled clear off the table onto the cold stone floor, where he lay for a long few minutes after. Silver bolts... around his neck, his wrists, his thighs... his finger tips dumbly touched the warm studs. The threads where he had pulled them out sat sinisterly on his skin, steaming, but the bolts seemed to hold everything in place. From his neck to his thighs seemed untouched, as he had not managed to tug the threads from there, and the bolts had stopped any other damage.

Braylinn's mind whirred in useless circles. He refused to think. His skin was an odd white-gray, a beautiful color for something produced by the slightest decay.

"What have you done to me...?" he murmured. His limbs felt oddly heavy, limb even as he lifted himself up. It was a rather odd sensation. His back ached from where he had writhed on the table, and his skin hummed with cold...

So cold... Braylinn peered at his fingers, at the stitches there, and then slowly down at his cold body. A tremor ran through his bare form and he sank to the floor, cowering behind the table before slipping right under it. He pulled his knees to his chest and shut his eyes, attempting to shrug off the hysteria that seeped into his mind.

What could he do now?

((OOC: I think it works like... Since Timor brought him back Timor *could* move Bray by will like a puppet, if Bray had no soul. Reanimating bodies with no soul is something a necromancer does, and they use the dead like puppets. But, Bray does have a soul, so he can move around on his own. As for who has control, it would be a battle of wills, but since Bray is kind of broken, Timor will probably win... at least for now :3

So, uhm, I suppose that is permission to move Bray about yourself if you want, unless it is something you think he would REALLY hesitate about, in which case give me a chance to decide or not :3

I dont know if Timor was there for that little struggle or not, you can decide ^___^ Also, YES, he is naked, but YOU didnt give him any clothes, so THERE, it's YOUR fault! xDDDDD

And dont worry, I'm really sorry I'm doing slow too ;_; This is REALLY fun and I really wanna be faster myself! Just exams kill ;_;

PS Added a pick of Bray to his profile, and soon I will add a new one of Laz too!! ))

[Anonymous]

Wait...something was not right. Timor could feel it on the nape of his neck, a tingling coldness, as if someone was trickling ice cold water down his back. It was not a nice feeling; extremely unnerving and he did not like it one bit. Timor's hands clenched tightly. His nails bit into his palms, making half moon shapes, signs of his increasing agitation.

The body jerked once, twice, into life.

Briefly, the eyes flickered open, and Timor felt the growing pressure subside, but no wash of relief came. He couldn't take his own flecked eyes off of the body, just waiting, waiting for it, for whatever it was to go wrong.

And then it happened.

Braylinn regained consciousness.

This wasn't meant to happen for another eight hours! Timor's mind reeled in shock at just how accelerated the result was. It shouldn't have been happening. The soul was supposed to readjust, reset it's bearings, mental clock...everything was supposed to go back to zero, default mode.

He needed to calm his breathing down. Timor found himself counting his breaths, focusing on nothing but his breathing in order to calm down. He had to ignore those whirlwind thoughts – all the possibilities and reasons and scenarios his overactive imagination threw at him. He would not be another Frankenstein – yes he had studied this text, back in the student days. In fact, this was what had inspired him to turn his research to...darker aspects, like discovering the keys to unlocking the very essence of life itself.

He was not going to fail.

Even as Braylinn's arms snapped up, trying to tear away the invisible black threads, Timor raised his own arms and willed them to tighten with all his might. His black, oozing threads shimmered, changing from silver to black, and back to silver, flickering...and...they held.

Timor closed his eyes, and slumped into a wooden chair nearby. He felt drained, both mentally and physically. Two nights in one row was way too much for him to handle. He was strong. But not that strong.

"What have you done to me...?"

At the sound of the weak voice, horror dawned upon Timor's face. Wiping away the beads of sweat, his eyes snapped open again and locked on the... body, his son. He watched it flex it's muscles, turn its hands over to inspect them, inspect his own handiwork. As if it would be anything less than top-notch!

Timor kicked the chair away from him as he stood up, at the same time as when Braylinn had lowered himself to the floor, and was crouched there, rocking back and forth, looking so pitiful.

It wasn't meant to happen like this!

Closing his eyes in disgust, Timor clicked his fingers and a grey tarpaulin cloth sailed over. He tossed it in the direction of Braylinn, so that it covered him like a snowdrift, settling around his body and insulating him from the cold.

Timor wasn't going to answer Braylinn's question.

Not when the boy still displayed some portion of controlling his own will.

In disgust, Timor left the dungeon, his footsteps echoing over the cold stone pavements, as the door swung shut and the bolts were fastened, locking in Braylinn.

---

An hour later, the sound of metal against metal tore through the empty air as the bolts were unfastened, this time by hands rather than by magic. Timor strode back into the room, looking around for a quivering pathetic heap. Somewhere along the line, his heart had hardened ever so much. Lines of disgust were etched across his face, as he held the bowl of brown food and the pitcher of water in his hands.

He couldn't see the boy anywhere.

Timor walked over to the stone table, and was about to put the bowl and pitcher on the table, when he snorted. A cruel thought passed through his mind and he placed them both down upon the floor. So far, he had heard no sound so perhaps that was a good sign. Perhaps Braylinn's soul had succumbed to his magic, and had been locked up.

No matter. He would return in another hour, just before daybreak and see if there was any change.

((Hehe, my Timor baby's in shock by how wrong it all went!! He's just reacting badly, is all. If you're unhappy with any of it, let me know and I shall edit, edit, edit. And now that exams are over, I can post more frequently! XD ))