Spirits of the Earth

@wandering_giraffe

——

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the dense woods just outside of Ketra. The sound of footsteps echoed through the trees as Ipsen, driven by a sinister compulsion, sprinted through the underbrush. His heart pounded in his chest, matching the relentless pursuit of the hounds and the distant shouts of authorities on his tail.

Darting between trees, Ipsen felt the adrenaline coursing through him, each step pushing him further away from the crime scenes that painted a gruesome tableau behind him. He expertly evaded the pursuit, guided by instincts that were not his own. The cold wind whipped through his disheveled hair as he vanished into the shadows.

In a concealed alcove, Ipsen found a momentary sanctuary. Breathing heavily, he clutched a tree, his eyes wide with a mix of exhilaration and dread. The barking of the dogs and the distant shouts faded away as he felt the transformation taking hold.

With a shuddering breath, Ipsen's demeanor shifted, his once predatory gaze replaced by confusion. Lowen Thorn blinked, disoriented, as if awakening from a haunting dream. His surroundings seemed unfamiliar, and a gap in time left him with a disconcerting void.

Soreness emanated from his limbs, and when he glanced down, horror seized him. Blood stained his hands and clothes, a gruesome tableau mirroring the scenes Ipsen had left in his wake. Panic set in as Lowen grappled with the chilling realization that he had no memory of the events that transpired.

Alone in the quietude of the woods, Lowen Thorn, oblivious to Ipsen's macabre escapades, found himself entangled in a web of mystery and darkness, with questions hanging in the air like the ominous shadows that surrounded him.

"Not again," Lowen whispered with a shaky breath. "What happened?"

For it being evening tide, the tavern and inn outside Ketra was deserted.
Arya didn't mind that though, it made her job of finding her contact much easier. She had a short sleeved, silver hooded poncho on, a green tunic underneath, and was wearing black pants and lace up boots.
The bartender looked up as she came in, but she waved him off, her eyes scanning the room for her contact. He shouldn't be hard to miss, he was an elf with a long beard.
Ah, there he is. He was sitting in the back corner near the fireplace...and he was strumming a lute, humming and tapping the floor with his foot.
She quietly walked up to him and sat down. His lute disappeared like magic (it probably was) and a razor sharp dagger appeared in his hand, pointed straight at Arya.
"Hey, maybe if you weren't so intensely playing your fake lute you would have noticed me walking up to you."
He scowled, finally recognizing her.
"Oh. It's only you."
Arya folded her arms.
"Well? The bounty?"
He sighed.
"Patience. Why don't you get a drink? The wine here, surprisingly, is exquisite."
He swirled the wine around in his glass and sniffed it, a small smile playing at his lips.
"Eldrin...I don't have all night. I'm on a time crunch as it is."
He raised an eyebrow at her and dramatically sighed.
"A real shame. Means I have to drink all this wine by myself."
He reached into his pocket and brought out a very wrinkled piece of paper.
Arya snatched it from him like he was threatening to drop it into the fire and unfolded it, reading over it.
The paper read:
"Ipsen...armed, dangerous, and a killer. Bring in dead or alive. Bonus if brought in alive."
The paper followed with a brief physical description of Ipsen.
"He was last seen near Ketra...well this is convenient...I'm already near Ketra!"
"Thanks Eldrin I'll give you your cut afterwards!"
And she turned and was gone.

Lowen sat alone in the quiet confines of the inn, the scent of freshly laundered clothes replacing the lingering echoes of the night's chaos. His reflection in the mirror showed a cleaned-up version of himself, yet the shadows of uncertainty loomed in his eyes.

Attempting to dismiss the ominous feeling that clung to him, he murmured reassurances under his breath. "It's probably my own blood. Maybe I had a clumsy accident." His hands traced over the fabric, searching for reassurance, but the stains persisted.

He gazed at his reflection, willing himself to accept the plausible explanation. "No need to overthink. People get cuts and bruises all the time," he reasoned, trying to drown out the unsettling doubt gnawing at him.

The room seemed to close in on him as he wrestled with the disquiet in his mind. "I must've taken a fall or something. Nothing more," he muttered, a futile attempt to convince himself.

Yet, as he stared into the mirror, the gap in his memory yawned before him like an unfathomable abyss. A disconcerting sense of unease settled over him, refusing to be dismissed. The inn's tranquility stood in stark contrast to the turmoil within him, and the unanswered questions hung heavy in the air. The fear that something sinister had transpired persisted, casting a shadow on the fragile peace he sought in the inn's refuge.

Realizing that the inn held no answers, he opted to navigate the lively streets of Ketra in search of clues. Despite his quest, he pledged to maintain a discreet presence amid the bustling city.

Carrying a silent determination, he exited the inn, immersing himself in the dynamic rhythm of the streets.

Arya had practically memorized the wrinkled wanted poster by now, Ipsen's face etched into her brain by this point. She kept one hand on her sword that was sheathed on her belt, and her eyes were scanning the people walking the streets of Ketra.
Nothing really stood out...a merchant peddling his wares, a dog barking at some oblivious man, another guy that kindof looked like Ipsen....That spelled trouble...come to think of it that guy looked exactly like Ipsen...she started to follow from a safe distance, suspicious eyes trained on her presumed target.

As Lowen discreetly meandered through the labyrinthine streets, the ambient murmur of the city enveloping him, his gaze inadvertently landed on a weathered board adorned with wanted posters. Among the assortment of faces, one sketch in particular sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. The wanted man was named Ipsen, and the uncanny resemblance to Lowen's own features struck a disconcerting chord.

"Ipsen," he murmured, scrutinizing the wanted poster. The details of the crime committed were frustratingly obscured, the ink too smudged to decipher.

A furrow creased Lowen's brow, a sense of worry briefly clouding his thoughts. He instinctively brushed it off, attributing the likeness to mere coincidence. Ipsen couldn't possibly be him; it was a folly of appearances. Determined to dismiss the disquieting notion, Lowen continued his journey through the bustling streets, attempting to silence the unease gnawing at the edge of his consciousness.

Yet, as he threaded through the maze of alleys and crowded thoroughfares, an unshakable feeling clung to him – the palpable awareness of being watched. Lowen's senses, finely tuned by a lurking unease, spurred him into action. His eyes scanned the surroundings with a heightened alertness, searching for an alley that would afford him a swift retreat into shadows, a place to confront the looming specter of being pursued. Each step bore the weight of his disquiet, and with a deft turn, he aimed to vanish into the anonymity of a nearby alley, a momentary refuge from the unsettling mysteries that trailed in his wake.

Someone was coming for him. He best be ready.

Arya watched as he turned and seemed to nervously scan the crowd. She's seen that behavior before. The mark of a guilty man. Him turning gave her a chance to see his face better. It had to be Ipsen.
He ducked into an alleyway and she followed.
Wait where did he go? She drew her sword and her dagger.

"Ipsen, come out right now! The poster says dead or alive and I don't mind carrying a corpse."
Well actually she did mind...it got tiring after a while.

Navigating through the alleyway, ascending a rickety metal staircase, and negotiating a few precarious window sills, he reached a small vantage point above. From this concealed perch, he observed a figure descending, someone who had been trailing him.

A woman emerged, armed and emanating a formidable aura. Was she a bounty hunter or something else entirely? Yet, what truly captured his attention were her piercing eyes and the scar that traced its way along her face.

She was quite pretty, and in that moment, quite terrifying.

But, wait.

She said that name - Ipsen. She was referring to his lookalike on the bounty poster. Surely this was just a misunderstanding!

"I think you have the wrong guy," he called out from above her, his voice almost as shaky as his knees on the ledge. "I'm not this Ipsen person."

Her eyes anxiously darted around the alleyway. Where did he go? She scanned above...his voice cut through the dark alleyway.
"I think you have the wrong guy."

Arya scoffed. She never had the wrong guy. She couldn't afford mistakes.
"Nice try, Ipsen. Get down here, don't make me come up there," she threatened, flipping her dagger and catching it.

"Uh, no thanks, I'll pass," he called from above, his balance teetering precariously. "And I'm being honest! I get it, that guy looks like me, but check it out – his eyes are totally black! Mine are hazel!"

Uncertain if the woman had the bounty poster on her person, he fumbled in his pocket for his own, crumpled it for weight, and tossed it down in her direction. "I'll show you," he urged as the paper fluttered to the ground, "but promise you won't pull anything!"

Even with her potential promise, trust eluded him, but his options were dwindling rapidly.

"I have my own paper, punk!" she yelled at him as the paper promptly hit her in the head.
She scowled up at him.
"Why do you criminals always choose the hard way?" She muttered, flicking her dagger into a crate and then picking up a rock and weighing the feel of it in her hand.
"That's a long way to fall, you know," she casually stated, mentally doing some quick maths. She chucked the rock at him, picked her dagger up, and walked to the metal staircase, placing one foot on the first stair and staring up at him.
"I'm going to count to 3. If you don't start coming down from there by the time I get to 2 I'll just have to retrieve a corpse," she said, waving her dagger at him for good measure.

Gods, seriously? With the gaps in his memory, the perplexing dreams, the growing sense of dread, and the aftermath of last night's incident, did he really need this additional challenge?

"Alright, alright," he replied, his voice pleading for a bit of respite. "I'll come down, just stay put."

Deciding it might be wiser to ascend rather than descend, he attempted to climb higher. However, a misstep coupled with nervous tension sent him stumbling, and he began an unplanned descent to the ground.

"Shit bananas!" he exclaimed, desperately hoping for something or someone to break his fall.

Well.

She could have predicted that.

If it had been anyone else trying to break this "not-Ipsen" fellows fall, both of them would have broken bones. But, as it was, it was Arya trying to break his fall. Truth be told, she was rather against killing people, and besides, she was getting a bonus if she brought him back alive.

She managed to catch him in a way that prevented him from hitting his head.
And then she found herself on the ground, with a very much alive and recently fallen "not-Ipsen" on top of her.
Oh good. She still had her dagger. Miraculous.
She gently poked him with it.
"Get off of me before i actually stab you with this," she growled.

Ow.

Well, sort of.

While the fall proved both unexpected and unforgiving, a softness beneath him suggested something broke his fall—a fortunate landing or perhaps an afterlife atop heavenly clouds.

Suddenly, a sharp poke jolted him, snapping him back to reality. "Oh," he murmured, regaining composure enough to realize what, or more accurately, who, had broken his fall.

Another "Oh!" escaped him, this time more frantic as he awkwardly shifted off her and rose to his feet. "I'm sorry, I—wait. My eyes. See?" He pointed to the hazel oak hue of his eyes, as if the color alone could clarify the peculiar situation to the woman.

He got off of her and she indignantly got to her feet, dramatically brushing off her clothes.
She kept her dagger pointed threateningly at him. Well, until she saw the color of his eyes. He wasn't lying. They were hazel, not black. Her dagger slowly sunk to her side.

"Wait, so if you're not Ipsen, then who are you? Why do you look so much like him?"

He began to speak, albeit briefly, unsure of how to address the woman. The resemblance to this Ipsen character perplexed him, casting a shadow over recent unsettling events.

In fact, the mere mention of the name Ipsen triggered a dull ache in his head. Why, he wondered?

"I'm Lowen," he finally stated, cautiously eyeing the tip of her blade. "Lowen Thorn. And I couldn't tell you; I've never met the man in my life."

His gaze returned to her, a hint of pleading in his eyes, silently urging her to understand. "Can you put that away, Miss...?" he trailed off, an open invitation for her to share her own name.

She reluctantly put away the dagger, keeping a hand close to its' sheath just in case.
"It's Arya...Arya Rathbone."
She suspiciously read over the wanted poster again, making sure she didn't mix something up. But no, the man's name on the poster was Ipsen, not Lowen.
"I'm sorry for the mixup," she finally said.
"Did you hurt yourself when you fell?" She questioned, anxiously glancing at him.

He smiled at her gestures – both the disclosure of her name and the sheathing of her weapon eased his tension. Her unexpected concern for his well-being was a pleasant surprise.

"I'm fine," he responded eagerly, casually brushing off his clothes. "I had something soft to cover—I mean, are you okay?"

As he awaited her response, a possibility raced through his mind. He couldn't deny his curiosity about why this Ipsen character bore such a striking resemblance to him. The thought lingered, suggesting it might hold the key to filling the gaps in his own memory. If she was in pursuit of Ipsen, it implied she possessed some knowledge about him. Perhaps, he mused, a working relationship could be forged.

Did he just say 'something soft'?!?! The audacity, she thought indignantly to herself, an annoyed scowl crossing over her face.
"Yes, well, I'm perfectly fine, thank you. Worse things have happened to me. What did you have to gain by climbing up there anyways?"
She shook her head, not even letting the poor man answer her question.
"Actually, I've got a more pertinent question for you. Do you know who this Ipsen fellow is? Because I know a small bit about him. He's a dangerous murderer."
She decided that Lowen was way too nice to pose any sort of threat.
"I've got a couch you can crash on if you don't have a place to stay."
Honestly, the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She did have a heart somewhere in her jaded soul.

She seemed... flustered, and he couldn't pinpoint the reason. Attempting to speak was a challenge, with her continuously cutting him off each time he tried to utter a word.

Summing it up: Ipsen, murderer, couch.

Wait.

Murderer?!

Wait, again.

A place to stay.

Clearing his throat, he offered her an apologetic smile. "Is my desperation that transparent?" he inquired, looking at her with gratitude. "I might not have much to offer, but," he trailed off, fully aware of his limited knowledge. Nevertheless, he couldn't refuse a place to lay his head, and he was eager to learn more about the the man too. "I'll contribute what I can in return for your assistance."

Arya tried to keep her guard up...but around this Lowen man it was impossible.
"You can stay as long as you need to...I have some resources that we can utilize to find this Ipsen fellow...what is your interest with this Ipsen?" She wasn't suspicious now, just genuinely curious.

————————

They arrived at her house, which was more of a small cabin. One room had the small kitchen, a small fireplace, an old but clean couch, and a wooden oak table for meals.
The other room was Arya's bedroom, divided from the other room by an animal skin from a mountain lion.
There was a small loft in the front of the house, which had some supplies, a few swords, and extra pillows and blankets.
She opened the door to her cabin and then stopped, whirling around on Lowen and pointing her dagger at him.
"If you so much as steal a fork from my kitchen I will slit your throat and hang you outside to dry. Got it?"
She then went inside, leaving him to follow her in.
"The couch is there. Let me grab you a pillow and a blanket as well."
She clambered up to the loft and threw onto the couch a down feather pillow and a soft blanket, before nimbly jumping down herself.
"I'll be in my room if you need anything. Don't bother knocking, it's not like there's a wooden door anyways."

Lowen stepped into Arya's modest abode, a mixture of hesitation and weariness etched on his face. Unused to kindness and wary from their prior meeting, he couldn't shake the suspicion that lingered in the air. However, the allure of a free place to rest proved too compelling to resist, especially with the ache and fatigue still clinging to his body.

Seating himself on the couch, he cast a thoughtful glance around the room before turning his attention to Arya. "So, Arya," he began cautiously, his tone a blend of curiosity and guardedness. "You mentioned you might have some insights. How long have you been in this line of work, and what exactly do you know about Ipsen?" The words hung in the air, a tentative probe into Arya's knowledge and a subtle attempt to navigate the complexities of their uneasy alliance.

Arya walked out of her room, the brushed tan and brown animal skin swishing closed behind her.
She also sat down on the couch, a bundle of wanted posters in her arms.
"These are all of Ipsen. All different dates, some different sketches. The one thing the same in all are his black eyes."
Arya internally shuddered.
It was as if Ipsen had lost the original color of his eyes, the blackness showing a window to his dark and heartless soul.
"He's killed...so many people. He is to the humanity of Le'raana what the Fell is to the countries of Le'raana. He's a black spot that needs to be wiped off Le'raana. Unspeakable evil. As for how long I've been in this line of work? Around 10 or so years."

"Killed..." Lowen trailed off, a sense of dread within him.

As Arya delved deeper into the harrowing tales of Ipsen's atrocities, a subtle ache began to pulse at the edges of Lowen's consciousness. Initially inconspicuous, it gradually intensified with each added word.

"And you're.. not scared.. to track him?" he barely managed to ask, the echo of drums ringing in his mind.

He strained to maintain focus, absorbing the weight of Ipsen's malevolence, but the burgeoning pain became an overwhelming force.

As Arya's words registered more, Lowen's head throbbed, drowning out the clarity of his thoughts. He struggled to articulate his own responses, the ache transforming into an oppressive pressure that silenced him mid-sentence. His attempts to engage in the conversation were thwarted by the rising tempest within his mind, leaving him in a disorienting state.

"I would, ah-" he quickly placed his head into his hands, unable to subdue the pain any longer.

Arya anxiously stood up and walked over to Lowen.
"Lowen are you ok? Here, let me get you some water."
She walked over to the kitchen, grabbing him a cup and filling it with water. She cautiously set it on the small table besides the couch.
"Lowen," her voice etched with concern, "Talk to me. Are you ok?"

Are you ok?

Are you ok?

His head throbbed relentlessly, a discordant drumbeat echoing through his senses. The agony was unbearable, a relentless assault on his consciousness. Had she given him something—a drink, perhaps? The details eluded him as he clutched his head, the searing pain coursing through every fiber of his being. The cacophony of deafening thuds reverberated within the chambers of his mind, a dissonant chorus drowning out coherent thought. A conflicting voice whispered through the chaos.

Are you okay? She won't be okay. He killed? She will be killed. Are you okay? Make her not okay. He killed? Kill her.

A shuddering breath escaped Lowen, and, for a moment, the torrent of pain seemed to relent. With closed eyes, he gradually lowered his hands, head tilting forward.

"Are you okay?" came his eerie whispered response.

"Lowen?" She cautiously whispered, anxiously watching him.
"Am I ok?" She repeated, one hand moving slowly to her sheathed dagger.
It was a mistake inviting him here
She backed away, her eyes on Lowen, anxiously backing toward the loft.

Are you okay? Am I okay?

There was a noticeable shift in the air.

"Well how the hell should I know?!" the man snarled in a transformed, darker tone, slamming his fist against the table while his head remained down. "You and I were just about to get some gods damn sleep for once, but no - you just had to start whining and crying, running away and hiding like you always do. Pull up your pants and be a man for-- wait, who?"

Lowen's gaze shot up at Arya, but it was no longer the gaze she knew. Instead, his eyes, once warm and expressive, were now pools of abyssal blackness, devoid of any emotion. An unsettling and sinister aura surrounded him, as if a different entity had taken residence within him.

Standing up, he circled around her with laser-focused eyes fixed upon her. Coming to a stop, he tilted his head, examining her with an insane glint in his eyes. A curious smile played on his lips as he lifted his hand slowly, pointing at her and bobbing it back and forth in an attempt to decipher her.

"Well lookie lookie, who the hell do we have here?" he began in a demanding tone.

"Oh, I got you. I know you," the man said with a sinister grin. "You're that wannabe bounty hunter! Been taken care of ol' Lowen in my absence, han't ya? Bet'cha weren't expectin' me."

The mysterious side of Lowen eased up, his smile growing more malevolent, emitting a soft, amused chuckle. "Arya, right? Well, I do have to apologize, missy. I hear the voices but I can't see the faces until it's up close and personal. Ol' Lowen.. you know, La.. La.. Lowen," he mocked, "likes to keep the world all to himself most times. A real piece of shit if I do say so myself."

Everything about this person was different from Lowen – more confident, sharper, eyes brimming with rage that never broke contact. Even his accent had a rustic, unsettling quality. The calm and bashfulness of Lowen's voice had morphed into someone raised on the harsh outskirts of civility.

His grin softened into a malignant state as he awaited her response, a disturbing air lingering.

This man was insane. And somehow, he had managed to trap her, walking around her looking ready to attack. Arya had drawn her dagger the minute he had raised his head from the table and his eyes were black...the exact same man on the wanted poster.
First she felt fear...unbridled, intense, terrifying fear. Fear that struck to her core and rooted her to the ground. The way he tilted his head and looked at her...
But then she felt anger.
She unsheathed her dagger and had it up against the man's neck in an instant, the whirl of steel being deadly fast, her hazel, angry eyes locked onto his infinite black ones.
"You bastard," she seethed.
"I invited you to my home, I trusted you, only for you to lie to me!" Her voice was shaking alittle, a combination of fear, shock, and raw anger. She pressed her dagger alittle into the guy's neck to get her point across.
"You were Ipsen all along...I should have killed you in that alleyway!"

Was Arya scared out of her mind? Absolutely. But she wasn't going to let this Ipsen guy see her fear...at least she hoped so.

Ipsen, the malevolent force revealed, curled his lips into a malicious smile as he locked eyes with Arya. His gaze fixated on the knife at his throat, and a twisted enthusiasm danced in his eyes. With wicked glee, he pressed into the blade just enough to draw a prickle of blood, allowing it to trickle down his neck, a macabre display of his unhinged delight.

In a swift motion, Ipsen disarmed Arya, expertly relieving her of the weapon, and with a forceful shove, he distanced himself from her. However, he refrained from launching an immediate attack. Instead, he walked casually and confidently, his stride exuding an evil presence as he circled the room like a predator surveying its domain.

Finally, he halted, turning to face Arya with a malevolent grin still etched on his face.

"I trusted you, I trusted you," he taunted, his voice dripping with malevolence. "Well, you sure fucked that one up, scarface. Lowen's off crying in some corner now. You get to deal with me now."

In a sudden surge of fury, he advanced upon her, a menacing presence closing in.

Another forceful shove, this time slamming her against the wall. "I ought to beat you on principal," he roared. "If you try to pull that tough rogue act on me again, I will beat your ass to Sunday! Do you understand me?!"

The scent of her fear filled the air, and his grin transformed into a sinister semblance. Stepping back, he took a few deliberate paces, propped his elbow on the wall, and leaned against it with the predatory grace of a vengeful beast.

Almost faster than she could blink, her dagger was torn from her grasp and was now in the hands of Ipsen. She lunged for her dagger but he seemed to anticipate her move, shoving her away from him.
The way he was walking around her house, acting like he owned it...rage was beginning to build up in Arya.
Well, both rage and fear.
The more Ipsen taunted and mocked her, the angrier she got. Until she found herself slammed against a wall by the unhinged Ipsen.
She saw stars when he slammed her into the wall. She grunted in pain and then defiantly looked up at him.
"Well it's a good thing it's Friday. You don't have very far to go."

His penetrating gaze softened, the previous fury dissipating, and the twisted grin transformed into a subtle smile. Yet, a lingering air of malevolence persisted, now veiled behind the semblance of an amused old friend.

Allowing his guard to momentarily lower, he pointed at her, playfully bobbing his finger back and forth in a motion of recognition. "That's a good one," he sneered, the tone now tinged with amusement. "I like you, Scarface."

Retreating a few steps, he returned to the couch, assuming a relaxed posture. Seated, one leg crossed over the other, he leaned back with folded arms and smirked up at her. "You're quite a looker, ain'tcha? Can't find anyone better than our dear La-La-Lowen, huh? What's you want with us, anyway?"

"What did you do with Lowen?" Arya asked, slowly inching away from Ipsen. He still had her dagger.
"What are you? A demon?"
She rubbed the back of her head that had hit the wall, wincing. At least it wasn't bleeding.

Ah shoot. Her sword was leaning against the wall across the room, meaning she'd have to cross Ipsen to get her sword.

"What do I want with you?" Should she tell this unstable man that there was a bounty on his head? She then realized that the bundle of posters she had brought out to show Loren were still sitting on the table by the couch.
She nervously eyed the sword that was currently unreachable.
"There was just a case of...uhhh...mistaken identity...that's all."
While she was talking she was slowly moving across the room, desperately hoping to get to the sword before Ipsen caught on.

Despite his outwardly relaxed demeanor, he remained acutely aware of Arya's maneuvers, watching her with meticulous precision. To catch her off guard even further, he dramatically rose from the couch and clapped his hands together with a resounding noise.

"Amazing!" he exclaimed, swiftly moving to swipe the sword off the wall. Holding it aloft, he eyed the weapon with sinister delight. Swinging it through the air with calculated grace, he maintained a fixated gaze on Arya. Eventually, the smile faded, and he lowered the sword to his side.

"Don'tcha worry about Lowen," he murmured, a hushed tone accompanying the words. "It's just us now. Unless... wait. Are you into that whole shy guy shtick? Come on, Scarface. Let's aim higher than that."

"Oh, I'm worried about Lowen—-put the damn sword down!"
Arya nimbly jumped onto the ladder and climbed into the loft, coming back nary 20 seconds later with a sword of her own.
"Fight me," she challenged.
"If I win, I get to collect the bounty that's on your head. If you win, you can use this house as a hideout."

Ipsen observed her movements in the loft with sheer amusement, a soft, breathy laugh escaping him. He examined the sword in his right hand, shaking it slightly with a frown before drawing a dagger, wielding it in his left.

"You know what I like about knives, miss ma'am," he remarked sharply, dismissing her offer. "It forces you to fight up close. You can almost taste the blood when you cut a man's throat."

Then, a smug look crossed his face as he peered up at her. "You're fun," he declared. "I can't wait to play with you."

With that, he tumbled backward onto the couch, both weapons slipping from his hands and clattering onto the floor. A weighty breath escaped him before he opened his eyes, revealing the hazel hue of Lowen Thorn.

Lowen blinked heavily, glancing around in disorientation. When he spotted Arya, he offered her an apologetic frown. "Is it morning already?"

Arya stood there speechless, watching the deranged man turn into Lowen.
"You're playing a trick on me...there's no way..."
She dropped her sword, "that wasn't meant for you, it was meant for the, er, other man...do you know he does that?"
She cautiously approached Lowen.
"Lowen...I found Ipsen..." she gently poked him in the arm.
"You're Ipsen. Which makes my job so difficult!"
She frustratedly took her head in her hands.
"I can't capture you, you're not Ipsen! Well, not technically..."

Lowen appeared visibly perplexed, a touch of sympathy in his eyes for her evident distress. Though her words conveyed genuine stress, he was convinced they couldn't be further from the truth.

"Hey, Arya," he spoke gently, seeking her attention. "Did you have a bad dream or something?"

"What?! No I didn't have a bad dream, he was—-he was right here! He was you!" She paced back and forth.
"Lowen, you're in danger, he—-I don't know how but he possesses you. Or—or something!"
"Your eyes turned black and everything!" She decided she wouldn't tell Lowen about Ipsen slamming her against a wall, she didn't want to cause him more distress.
"You've got to believe me!" Her eyes had grown wider, her breathing faster.

Lowen's heart plunged into the depths of his stomach. Was she speaking the truth?

The bloodstains on him, the gaps in his memory, the looming sense of dread, and those peculiar dreams - her explanation seemed to connect the dots. He swallowed hard. Accepting that he might be Ipsen, or as she claimed, possessed, felt like a monumental leap.

Pulling himself together, at least for her sake, he rose from his seat and calmly approached her. Placing a reassuring hand on her arm, he tried to comfort her. "It's okay," he said gently. "It's me. It's Lowen."

She broke down as soon as he touched her arm, pulling him into a hug.
"He—he knows about you," she said, her breath coming in gasps.
"I dont know what to do now! I'm so sorry Lowen."

Her unexpected embrace was enough to make his cheeks burn red, not sharing any sort of intimacy or affection in quite some time. Still, it was hardly the time or place with her literally sobbing into him.

He tried. He did. He wrapped his arms around her, albeit a bit awkwardly after first, and held her tightly to allow her the time she needed to let it out.

He knows about... me?

He let his chin rest on top of her head, eyes scanning the room. His dagger was on the floor, and so was a sword. Was it hers? What.. happened?

"What," he started quietly, having difficulty finding the words. "What should I do?"

She was able to calm down.
"I don't know! I've never dealt with—with anything even close to this before!" She took a shaky breath.
"Maybe...maybe I am going insane..."
She was quiet for a moment.
"Do you...do you remember anything from when you were Ipsen? Anything at all?"

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, realizing that he had remained silent while still holding her in a gentle embrace. Blushing, he shifted away from her and cleared his throat before speaking.

"I don't know," he admitted truthfully, uncertainty evident in his voice. "The last thing I remember... is getting a terrible headache."

His gaze drifted to the weapons on the floor and then back to her, a hint of hesitation in his voice. "I didn't... hurt you, did I?"

A strange look flashed across her eyes when he asked if he had hurt her.
"No," she said quietly, "You didn't hurt me, you just scared me alittle."
"You said you had a terrible headache before hand? Do you remember if you get these often?"
She wiped at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.
"Sorry for everything...I just kindof freaked out for a second."
She grabbed a grapefruit from the table and walked into the kitchen, cutting it into quarters.
"Would you like a piece? Grapefruit helps me think, at least."

"Oh, I'm fine, tha-" he was interrupted by the sound of his stomach growling in anger. Another small blush colored his cheeks before he conceded and nodded. "Actually, sure. Thank you."

Food was scarce for him most of the time. He often tried to be polite and not have someone go out of their way for him, but he was already staying on her couch, and well... he was starving.

"I do get headaches often," he admitted. "And I tend to lose time. I can't explain it... it's like I fall asleep at random times, or I black out."

She sat next to him and handed him half of the grapefruit and a knife.
"Can you correlate these headaches with like, events? Or some strange unique thing that triggers it?"
She took a bite of her grapefruit.
"Has any strange events happened recently? Anything that has stood out?"

He didn't know why, but he felt as if he could trust her. Hells, he did not have much to lose or much to go on at any rate.

Taking a bite of the grapefruit, he swallowed and nodded soberly. "Actually," he began, a hint of fear and uncertainty lacing his voice. "The other day I... I mean, the day before you found me. I had another episode. When I came to, I was in the woods... covered in blood."

Realization began to hit him like a freight train, and he could not hide the slight tears surfacing in his eyes.

Arya softly put her arm around him.
"I'm sorry...how can I help? I have a lot of connections here...maybe we could go consult someone."
"Hey...you don't have to think about it right now...we'll work through this. We have time."

Her touch broke him in that moment.

Lowen crumbled into Arya's comforting embrace, overwhelmed by the weight of his truth. As he sobbed, the horrors of his situation unravel, and he silently confessed the haunting reality to himself – he is Ipsen, the one responsible for taking lives. A man who's strived to be good is now grappling with the revelation, questioning the very foundation of his existence.

Once the tears passed and dried, he leaned up, his head heavy and his face sore. "Thank you," he whispered in defeat. "Maybe I.. just need some sleep for now."

"You're safe here...you can stay here as long as you need," she reassured him.
Arya gently laid him down on the couch and covered him with the soft blanket she had grabbed earlier.
"I know it's a lot to process...tomorrow morning we can start fresh, I'll have breakfast ready too. If you need anything, I'm just through there," and she pointed through the animal skin hanging down over the partition.
"Will you be ok through the night?" She concernedly asked.
After making sure he would be comfortable, she wished him good night, and went to her own bed, leaving the partition open.
She yawned and fell asleep fast.

Lowen succumbed to the embrace of slumber on Arya's couch, his restless dreams manifesting in inaudible and haunting whispers. Tossing and turning, he grappled with the echoes of his own internal turmoil. In the quiet of the night, a sudden jolt disrupted the stillness as Lowen abruptly sat upright. His once-closed eyes revealed an unsettling truth – Ipsen had resurfaced.

The room, bathed in an eerie stillness, bore witness to Ipsen's presence, his black eyes void of all emotion. Sinister intentions lingered in the air as he silently observed Arya, sleeping peacefully, unaware of the malevolent force now in her midst. The weight of darkness enveloped the room as Ipsen, consumed by an inscrutable purpose, watched her for a moment, his silent gaze penetrating the serenity of the night. Without a sound, he slipped away into the shadows, leaving behind an unsettling aura that lingered in the empty space he once occupied.

Arya woke up alittle before dawn with a start...something didn't feel right. There was an aura around the room...She anxiously threw the covers back and got out of bed, cautiously walking into the still dark room.
"Lowen?" Her voice shook.
"Are you alright?"

The moon hung low in the ink-black sky, casting eerie shadows that clung to the desolate alleyways like a malevolent shroud. Ipsen, awakened from his slumber, moved with predatory grace, silent as the whispers of the night. Leaving Arya's house behind, he became a phantom in the shadows, hunting an unsuspecting prey through the winding labyrinth of the town's darker corners.

As he trailed the stranger, his senses heightened, and the air thickened with tension. Ipsen, a creature of the night, moved like a hungry predator closing in on its prey. The man, oblivious to the impending danger, wandered into an isolated part of town, where the murmur of life was swallowed by the suffocating darkness.

Suddenly, Ipsen revealed himself, stepping into the dim light with a disarming smile. He assumed the persona of Lowen, seemingly lost and harmless. "E-excuse me, sir," he began, his voice carrying the veneer of politeness. "I seem to have lost my way. Can you help me with directions?"

The unsuspecting man, initially sympathetic, began to offer guidance. Just as a glimmer of relief flickered in his eyes, Ipsen's demeanor shifted like a sudden storm. The nice guy facade melted away, revealing the true nature of the predator within.

Ipsen's eyes, once benign, now glinted with a malevolence as he unleashed his violent attack. Without warning, Ipsen pinned the man against the wall, unsheathing his knife before stabbing the man over and over again, the haunting echoes of the encounter reverberating through the desolate alleyways.

With the exhilaration of the kill winding down, Ipsen grinned maliciously at the corpse before sliding down against the wall, letting himself revert back to Lowen.

Lowen now lay unconscious in the alleyway across from the man he just brutally murdered, unbeknownst to the acts he just committed, as the sun began to rise with the morning.

Arya couldn't find Lowen anywhere.
"No no no..." she muttered, her anxiety ratcheting up into panic.
She quickly grabbed her cloak and her sword, running out into the dawn.

"Lowen!" She yelled, frantically checking alleyways and back roads.
There...in an abandoned alleyway...blood streaked the walls like an insane artist had been unleashed.
One lay against a wall, and one lay down on the ground, very obviously dead.
"Oh no..." Arya whispered, rushing to the poor unconscious guy lying against the wall.
"Are you Lowen or Ipsen?" She muttered, frantically checking him over for injuries.
"Oh god...I've got to get you out of here..." She grabbed the bloody knife that she assumed was the murder weapon and wrapped it, shoving it into her belt.
She hoisted him up onto her shoulder, and took the back road back to her cabin.
"You've got some explaining to do," she muttered.

Upon finally regaining consciousness, Lowen blinked one hazel eye open with a heavy groan. His body felt as if it had endured some rigorous exercise.

It took a moment for him to grasp that he was not only outdoors but also being carried by someone. Relief washed over him as he identified Arya, though the mixture of terror and confusion lingered.

"Arya," he grunted, initiating a slight wiggle to free himself from her grip. "Put me down. What happened?"

Arya's grip only tightened.
"You're not going anywhere," she snarled, marching back to her cabin.
She flung him down on the couch, drawing a dagger and pointing it at him.
"Stay there."
She paced back and forth in front of the couch.
"Do you even know what you did last night?" Her hazel eyes flashing in anger.
She brought out the dagger Ipsen had used to kill the man and unwrapped it, dropping it onto the couch next to Lowen.
"Does this dagger look familiar to you?"
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down.
"Last night, you—-I mean Ipsen—-killed a man. With that dagger. Do you wake up confused like that a lot? We've got to find a way to keep Ipsen under control."

Tossed onto the couch like a discarded rag doll nearly stole his breath, and the sight of his own dagger, stained with blood, placed beside him delivered the final blow. His eyes widened, then quickly darted to Arya, warily tracking her movements as she paced with her weapon drawn.

"That's my dagger," he uttered dishearteningly. "T-that's my..."

Any further words from the woman were drowned out by the panic resonating violently in his ears.

Arya didn't notice the panic on Lowen's face until midway through her tirade. She stopped and looked at him, dropping her dagger.
"Oh god, what have I done?"
She shouldn't have been that hard on him, and she cautiously approached him.
"Lowen, I'm sorry."

Her apology barely registered, deemed unnecessary in a state of clarity he currently lacked. Instead, his attention fixated on the blade tainted with someone else's blood. In a frantic panic, he began to scoot away from it, nearly toppling over the edge of the couch.

"What have I done? What have I done?!" he shot a pleading look at Arya. "What have I done?!"

Standing up, he pressed himself against the wall, as if fearing the dagger might come alive and target him next. Throughout, his breathing intensified until he managed to regain control.

"I have to turn myself in."

He was starting to lose it.
She concernedly watched him, and then cautiously stood up and approached.
"You can't turn yourself in. I helped you. I'd be implicated for murder!"
She sighed.
"Sit down. Sit down, Lowen."
She was going to hate herself for this.
"This isn't personal, ok? It's to protect both me and you. Please understand."
Arya dug a small section of rope out of her pocket.
"This is only when I can't watch you, ok?" She tied his wrists in front of him, just tight enough to restrict movement, but not tight enough to cut off circulation.
"Are you hungry?" She asked softly.
"I've got some soup if you want some."

Observing the woman skillfully tying the rope, Lowen's usual panic in such a situation was replaced by an unexpected sense of relief, courtesy of recent events and revelations.

"I don't have much of an appetite right now," he admitted honestly, his stomach still unsettled from the haunting sight of blood on his blade.

Allowing her to complete the knot, he looked up at her with pleading eyes. "Maybe a bit tighter," he suggested. "I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

Arya already felt guilty enough for tying up an innocent man.
"No, I already feel bad enough."
She stood up from the couch, her eyes apologetic.
"Well, I'll make enough soup for two. I'll keep your portion hot, ok?"
And she started making the soup, strangely quiet, thinking about the dilemma she was in.

Lowen shifted uncomfortably against the binds, his eyes darting around the room. The ropes dug into his wrists, a constant reminder of the precarious situation he found himself in. The ropes were not too tight, but did appear tight enough - which would do for now.

The aroma of Arya's soup wafted through the air, a tempting and distracting fragrance that momentarily drew Lowen's attention away from his predicament. His stomach betrayed him with a low, rumbling growl, echoing the longing for a warmth that transcended the physical constraints that held him captive.

Lowen thought back to her words, "I feel bad enough already," nodded reluctantly, his gaze dropping to the ground. The tendrils of savory steam rose from the kitchen, tempting his senses. He took a deep breath, attempting to steady his nerves. "I understand, Arya. It's just... How long can we keep this up? I need to find a way to rid myself of Ipsen permanently."

Despite his best efforts to remain present in the moment, his mind raced with thoughts of escape, of finding a way to separate himself from Ipsen's influence.

Arya finished making the soup, pouring it into two bowls, and grabbing two spoons from the kitchen drawer.
"It's nothing crazy," she said as she walked back out to the couch.
"It's just chicken noodle soup, but it's a recipe that's been in my family for generations."
She set down the bowls of soup on the small table next to the couch, and then sat down next to Lowen.
"I agree," Arya said, carefully untying Lowen's ropes so he could eat.
"But right now, try to take your mind off of that and eat. I know it's distressing, but I'm here for you. We will get through this."
Arya cautiously stirred her soup, the steam coming off of the top of it indicating that it was still quite hot.
"Careful, the soup is hot."

"Careful, the soup is—"

Before she could finish, Lowen had already devoured his bowl of delicious soup, his impatience evident in the scorching sensation on his tongue. Despite the heat, his stomach reveled in satisfaction, and a warm glow settled within him. "Thanks," he said sheepishly, placing the empty bowl on the table. He then turned his attention to the ropes, preparing for her to secure him once again.

"You mentioned someone we could talk to," he began, curiosity and a hint of hope gleaming in his eyes. "Do you know who that might be?"

"Hot..." Arya finished, raising an eyebrow at him.
She carefully finished hers before also setting her empty bowl down.
She put the section of rope in her pocket.
"I'm not going to tie your wrists unless I'm not watching you. I've got a conscience, you know."
"Well, there's this guy in Ketra...he runs an apothecary but also delves in the dark magics...there are rumors that he might be half demon...but he might be able to help us. He won't report us to the authorities because he himself runs his business on more of the down low side. He's not exactly the friendliest character...considering that I...well..." she shifted alittle uncomfortably in her seat. "Tried to kill him a year ago. But maybe he's forgotten about that."

Had Lowen still been savoring the soup, it would have been an opportune moment for him to spit it all out.

"I'm sorry," he responded slowly, as if grappling to fully comprehend her words. "You tried to do what, exactly?"

A sigh escaped him as he leaned back into the couch, allowing himself to slide down a bit. "I trust you, but," he began once more, "perhaps we shouldn't expose you to any more danger than I've already caused."

"Are you kidding?" Arya leaned forward, her eyes sparkling.
"I live for danger. That's why I'm in this profession. Besides...you're a kind guy. I want to help you."
She smiled and took both of their bowls, standing up and going to the kitchen.

A soft smile played on Lowen's lips at her words. "You're kind too," he replied, the words slipping out almost as a hushed confession. Uncertain whether she caught his words, he decided to shake off his introspection, rising from his seat. The day ahead hinted at peril, and he needed both mental and physical preparation for the journey to rid himself of Ipsen.

A profound sense of gratitude toward Arya lingered within him, a debt he felt incapable of repaying.

"Mind if I freshen up before we head out?" he asked, raising his voice just enough for her to hear from the kitchen.

"Yeah sure! The washroom is just below the loft."
She came back out of the kitchen and grabbed her two daggers and her sword, putting on her belt and waiting by the door.
When Lowen was ready, she opened the door and they left.
"Now I just need to remember where exactly this shop is," Arya said, skipping two dirt roads before turning down a more decrepit, muddy road. The shops along here were definitely more of the shady variety, the signs making you have to squint to read what they said, most covered with mud and some shops liking any sort of sign entirely.
She stopped in front of a nicer building, the window indicating that it was a sweet shop. Arya went around to the side door and stopped, turning to Lowen, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper.
"Now, this fellow, he doesn't have a name...people just call him Vae...but tread carefully. If he attacks me, run back to the cabin, ok? Don't worry about me."
And with that, she opened the side door carefully, one hand holding a very discreet dagger.

As Lowen and Arya strolled along the winding roads towards their destination, an intermittent pain pulsed through his head. Whenever he attempted to share this discomfort with Arya, the ache intensified, momentarily disorienting him. In those fleeting moments, his eyes subtly flashed black, a phenomenon just subtle enough to escape her notice.

"Wait," he said in a hushed tone before entering. "If you're attacked, I-"

The sentence hung unfinished, caught in the tumultuous swirl of panic and an overwhelming desire to protect her that clouded his mind.

Arya quietly entered the small, dimly lit shop, holding the door open for Lowen. "We'll find out what's wrong, I promise."
The heavy, wooden door slammed closed behind them, and she winced.
The shop was full of bottles and vials of miscellaneous sizes, most filled with potions that looked like they'd torture you agonizingly before giving you the mercy of death.
Various animal skins hung on the wall, along with some ivory horns, some very dangerous looking dragon teeth, and even half of a dragon wing.
The ceiling of the store was just as full as the walls were, and if you looked hard enough, there was even a  unicorn horn hanging from the ceiling.
There wasn't a single window in the shop, all of the light coming from a few sparse candles throughout the shop.
Then, a voice rang out, deep, and unsettling.
"Welcome, travelers! What can I do for y—" the voice cut itself off as the owner of the voice came into view, a tall, muscular man, at least 7'5, nothing really out of the ordinary except that he had two maroon horns on top of his head. His green eyes flashed in recognition upon seeing Arya.
"You." He finished, angrily setting down the vial of bubbling black liquid on the counter.
"You!" His voice grew accusatory, as he advanced toward Arya, one hand clenched into a fist.
"You have a lot of nerve, waltzing into my shop," he growled, towering over her and then just noticing Lowen.
He beamed a quick smile at Lowen.
"My anger is not with you, lad. Please, look around, while I deal with this...sorry excuse for a human."
Arya scowled.
"That was a year ago! Can't we just forget it?"
"You tried to kill me!" He practically yelled, his voice shaking the bottles on the shelf.

Well, this was certainly... interesting.

Deciding that Arya mostly had the situation under control, he ordered the tall man a polite nod before letting curiosity to get the better of him.

In the dimly lit store, Lowen's eyes scanned the shelves adorned with peculiar vials and arcane concoctions, each one seemingly holding a secret of its own. He maintained a cautious ear, listening for any signs of trouble from the enigmatic store owner that might endanger Arya. Yet, amidst this vigilant watch, a subtle ache began to gnaw at his head once mark, a dark precursor to Ipsen's emergence.

The pain escalated, and with a blink, his once hazel eyes morphed into an abyss of black, a manifestation of Ipsen's ominous presence. Rather than revealing his takeover, Ipsen veiled his true nature, his back turned to them as he pretended to explore the arcane wares of the store.

"You had a bounty on your head, Vae! Or do you forget?! A very, very large bounty at that. I couldn't resist the offer of 40 gold bars! It's not my fault you ticked off the Connlaothian Grand Duke, is it?"
Vae didn't stop advancing toward her, not stopping until he was in her personal space, leering down at her, a grin on his face.
"You shouldn't have come here, Arya." His voice turned cold, a chill settling over the shop.
"Unlike your kind. I don't forget. I just get even."
And his hand shot out, grabbing the collar of her shirt, lifting her off of her feet.
"Can't you forget like, just this one time? Just for 10 minutes? And then you can try to get even! I just—-I need you to take a look at my friend...there's something wrong with him!" Arya tried to ignore the fact that a half demon had her by the shirt and looked like he was about to kill her.
The man thought about that for a second, his grip loosening on her shirt.
"Fine. You've got 10 minutes."

Ipsen, concealing his true identity beneath the façade of Lowen, deftly perused the store, slyly pocketing items of interest. The commotion behind him drew a malicious grin, a subtle satisfaction at Arya's predicament creeping across his features. Succumbing to the act, he finally spoke, a sinister undertone weaving through his words as he made an effort to mimic Lowen's accent.

"Arya, are you sure we can trust this man?"

Arya angrily shook herself out of the man's grip and exasperated, turned to Lowen.
"He hasn't killed me yet, so that's an improvement."
Vae folded his arms and raised an eyebrow from behind her, but said nothing.
"Well, Lowen, tell him what's going on!"

A sinister grin etched across Ipsen's face as he identified the deadly substance within one of the bottles—a poison so virulent that, if unleashed, it would spread like a relentless plague, snuffing out life in its wake. The lethal concoction had been cunningly concealed, tucked away as if shrouded in secrecy, but Ipsen recognized its malevolent potential all too well.

Seizing the bottle, Ipsen turned around to face them, revealing his malicious black eyes, devoid of remorse. Purposefully careless, he toyed with the deadly concoction, relishing the menace that emanated from his every move. The sinister glint in his eyes mirrored the imminent danger, a silent threat that hung heavily in the air.

"Tell me, old man," Ipsen hissed with a wild smile, "whatcha' got here?"

Arya was completely clueless about whatever the hell was in the bottle.
Vae on the other hand, noticed something amiss...one, Lowen was no longer himself, his eyes now black, and two, Lowen was now holding up a bottle of, essentially, death.
"Put that down!" Vae growled, his horns growing and turning red and black, his green eyes fading to reveal shining amber eyes.
Arya gasped when she saw Ipsen.
"That's what I'm talking about! It's like—-like he's possessed! Or something. What can you do about it?"
One of Vae's hands began to shimmer with a virulent, silvery red hue.
Vae grabbed Arya, forcing her to look at Ipsen.
"Was this part of your plan?" He hissed.
"Unless you want me to snap Arya's neck, you better put that down," Vae warned, one of his hands coming up and closing around Arya's neck.

Observing the man's actions, Ipsen's sinister smile slowly transformed into a ferocious snarl. Whether it was Lowen's emotions bleeding into Ipsen's thoughts or not, the mere sight of him holding Arya threatened to ignite a rage within.

If anyone's going to kill her, it's going to be me.

Taking a deliberate and measured step toward the two, Ipsen skillfully tossed the vial up and down, a display of near-perfect precision. "Easy there, partner," he hissed, closing the distance with another calculated step. "Unless you want me to rip off your horns and shove them up your ass."

Coming to a halt a few feet away, his subtle and mischievous smile returned to his lips. "You know what, you ain't bad," he addressed Vae. "Catch."

Without a moment's hesitation, he launched the vial high into the air, its suspension creating an agonizing sense of eternity.

Arya's mouth went dry with fear when she saw Ipsen holding the vial.
"It-none of this was part of my plan! I swear! I tell you, he just changes!" Then Ipsen tossed the vial up in the air. Vae swore and pushed Arya into Ipsen, lunging for the vial and catching it.
"Are you insane?" Vae yelled.
"You could have annihilated this whole town!"
"I should kill both of you," he snarled.
"But...no...us three are going to have a little chat."

Ipsen caught Arya in his arms, deftly shuffling her away while keeping a predatory gaze fixed on the shopkeeper.

The surge of Lowen's emotions again perplexed Ipsen. Ordinarily, he might seize the opportunity to thrust a knife into the woman's stomach, but an unexplainable force held him back. It was becoming increasingly irksome.

"Yeah, we do need to have a little chat," Ipsen echoed, a dangerous glint in his eye. "She told ya, right? You saw it right? I change."

A small, calculated smile accompanied Ipsen's nod as he stepped back. Picking up another vial, he examined it with feigned curiosity before sharply returning his gaze to Vae. "Makes me sick," Ipsen continued. "So here's the deal: help me get rid of that wuss Lowen, and I'll kill ol' Scarface here for ya, free of charge.".

Vae perked up at that offer.
"Is Lowen the...other guy?" He curiously asked, his anger gone like a vapor of smoke.
Arya, meanwhile, was pissed.
"You let go of me, you sorry, twofaced rat!"
She was desperately trying to get her dagger that was sheathed, because in the commotion, the dagger she was holding she had lost, and who knows where it was. Hopefully away from Ipsen.
"Lowen!" She desperately yelled.
"You've gotta wake up!"
Vae smiled maliciously.
"I'll kill Lowen for you...and you can take your pick of poisons for Arya, if that's your game...I've got hundreds."

Ipsen burst into laughter, starting with an amused smile and a breathy chuckle that escalated into outright hilarity. Pointing at Vae with admiration, his finger bobbed back and forth in the characteristic manner of someone thoroughly enjoying a moment. "Friend, I absolutely adore your style," Ipsen declared in a slow and hushed tone.

He shot a wicked smile toward Arya, a playful glint in his eyes, before redirecting his attention to the shopkeep. "Alright, you've got yourself a—No!"

Ipsen's laughter abruptly halted, replaced by a sharp intake of breath as if he'd been struck in the gut. His eyes blinked slowly as the realization dawned, and a sudden surge of unbridled rage contorted his features. He was propelled backward, crashing to the ground, sending shelves tumbling as if grappling with an unseen adversary.

When his eyes reopened, it was Lowen who emerged.

Lowen, surprisingly less disoriented than usual, turned to Arya with an expression unlike his usual worry and panic—it was awareness of the other man. "Arya," he said breathlessly. "I felt him."

Vae watched all that unfolded with a mix of confusion and amusement, before turning to Arya with a scowl etched across his face.
"If whatever that other character is won't kill you, I will."
Arya had run over to help Lowen up, as soon as she saw he had changed back.
She helped him stand.
"You felt him? Do you remember anything from minutes ago? Did he say anything to you?"
Vae shook his head.
"This is all so heartwrenchingly sweet. But your 10 minutes is up."
He unsheathed a knife with a strange cylindrical blade, and advanced again toward Arya.
"Unless you want to get killed yourself, stay out of the way," he warned Lowen.

In a desperate attempt to shield Arya from Vae's advancing figure, he threw himself in front of her. Arms extended, his futile gesture spoke of a fearless determination, as if the mere act of standing between Arya and Vae could somehow ward off the impending threat.

"Wait!" Lowen pleaded.

Arya gasped when Lowen stepped in between them.
Vae also paused, if only to grip the weapon he was holding tighter.
"Move!" He growled, simply shoving Lowen harshly out of the way and into a shelf with one hand. Arya was acting helpless, but she had a throwing knife stored in her boot, and when Lowen jumped in between them, she discreetly drew it, holding it in her hand, hiding her hand behind her back.
Vae moved with lightning speed, hitting Arya across the face and knocking her to the floor with the hilt of his dagger; kicking her squarely in the ribs. Arya let out a gasp of pain, but kept her dagger hidden. She had to wait...
Vae knelt down beside her, smirking in malicious victory.
He raised the dagger for the killing blow, and that's when Arya brought out her dagger, slashing him across the face. Vae cried out in anger, dropping his dagger and clutching his face.
Arya struggled to her feet, looking for Lowen, her ribs screaming in pain.

Shit bananas that hurt.

How on earth does Ipsen kill with this body? The shopkeep just tossed him aside like a scrap of paper, and for a moment he felt as if he leaned fly before the unforgiving crash into a shelf.

By the time he was able to move again, though wincing from the pain in his back, he could see Arya momentarily with the upper hand but with a severe look of discomfort.

He scrambled to his feet before hurrying to her side. "Maybe this wasn't the best idea," he nearly scolded her before wrapping her arm around his shoulders for support. "Let's go!"

"Maybe you're right," she admitted, wincing in pain with every step.
"Let's get back to my cabin and we'll figure out a pla"—-she wasn't able to finish her sentence, because from the ground where Vae was he managed to crudely throw his dagger, the weapon embedding in Arya's leg.
"You forget! I always win in the end!" And Vae let out a deranged laugh.
She let out a yelp of pain, but they both managed to get out the door, and Arya slammed it shut.
"Just go! My cabin isn't that far! I-shit—I have medical supplies there. I'm fine...I don't think he hit very deep."
But her leg was bleeding a lot...but what they should be worrying about isn't the blood loss...but what was causing the blood loss...

"Oh, shut up," he told her, getting them for enough away from the shop to be able to look to her wound. Not too far away, but enough.

With urgency in his movements, Lowen knelt beside Arya, assessing the dagger lodged in her leg. "We can't wait," he said, determination in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to remove the weapon.

"I know a bit of healing," Lowen assured Arya, gently squeezing her hand for reassurance. "But fair warning, the magic might sting a bit. Squeeze my hand if it gets too much."

With a swift and steady motion, he extracted the dagger. Ripping off a piece of his shirt, Lowen swiftly fashioned a makeshift bandage, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. As he worked to secure the wound, he maintained eye contact with Arya, offering silent comfort amidst the challenging circumstances.

"This will get us there," he spoke once more, "but it won't help forever. We need to get to your supplies."

Arya inhaled sharply as Lowen dealt with the dagger in her leg.
"Careful—-there can be poison sometimes." She gritted her teeth. Gods, she hated being stabbed. It never got old. When he removed it, there was a hiss from the dagger, almost like steam was trying to escape from something.
She gritted her teeth when he pulled the dagger out, eyes watering with the combined pain of the nasty cut on her face, her ribs (although with the way it hurt to breathe Arya wouldn't be suprised if some were broken), and the stab wound on her leg.
"T-thanks for help—-you know magic?!?!"
Well isn't this day just full of surprises. 
One arm was protectively guarding her ribs, and one arm she had around Lowen, trying to keep from collapsing.


They finally reached the cabin, and Arya opened the door.
"My medical supplies are under the couch."
Her skin had taken on a strange hue.
"I hope you kept the knife...I have a feeling that Vae wouldn't just throw a knife at me unless it had poison."

Panicking at the strange hue in Arya's complexion, Lowen hastily positioned her on the couch. Kneeling beside her, he inspected the cut on her leg, anxiety evident in his eyes. Lacking knowledge about poison, a desperate idea struck him.

"This is going to be weird," he told her, "but stay with me."

With a somewhat comical determination, Lowen leaned down and began an earnest attempt to suck the poison from Arya's leg. Each attempt was met with a theatrical spit, as if trying to rid himself of the supposed venom. Despite the gravity of the situation, the scene unfolded in a slightly humorous manner, showcasing Lowen's earnest but misguided efforts to counteract the poison.

Arya watched as Lowen knelt beside her and tried to...suck the poison out of her leg...
Arya, despite the pain she was in, tried to hide the smile that was threatening to burst on her face.
Trying to stay stern, she glared down at Lowen.
"I don't think that's how that works—-Lowen! That tickles!"
And she failed to hide the laugh that burst from her, which reminded her of her injured ribs.

She was laughing..? Here he was, trying to suck poison out of her legs, and she was laughing!

"Oh, be quiet," he whispered, though unable to hide the grin tugging at his lips.

Flushed with embarrassment after Arya's laughter, Lowen couldn't help but feel a warmth within as he realized he had managed to bring a smile to her face. Collecting himself, he reached under her couch for the supplies she had mentioned.

Focused and determined, Lowen found the necessary medical items to address the poison within Arya. With a steady hand, he got to work, administering the antidote and tending to her wound. Throughout the process, he would occasionally glance up at Arya, offering silent reassurance and ensuring her comfort in the midst of the remedy.

Arya, at his admonition to be quiet, only started laughing more. She finally got control of herself.
"I'm not laughing at you, I promise."
She grew slightly contemplative.
"Wait, back at the shop...you said you felt him? Felt him how? Was he talking to you—-OW—-sorry, that just kinda hurt."
She placed a hand on Lowen's shoulder.
"Thank you. For helping me."

With a gentle touch, Lowen shifted his focus to the cut on Arya's face. Leaning in with controlled breathing, he used the medical supplies to delicately tend to the wound. Close to her face, a mix of concern and warmth reflected in his eyes, and a subtle smile played on his lips. The moment almost felt intimate in a certain fashion, though not one Lowen wished to repeat given the condition she was in.

"I, um," he started softly, trying to focus on her wounds above all else. "I was conscious. I can't explain it, but.. it was like I was there and unable to control my body. Ipsen is a real piece of work, isn't he?"

Arya winced as Lowen tended to the cut on her face.

"Ipsen is a piece of work," Arya replied thoughtfully.
"What if—-do you think you can purposefully trigger Ipsen? I think the only way we can solve this is if I talk to him, or at least, try to talk to him. I can handle him."

"So...when Ipsen was in control at the shop...do you remember any of it?"

Lowen maintained his steady focus on treating Arya's cuts on her face. With meticulous care, he cleaned the wounds using antiseptic wipes, ensuring the removal of any debris. As he worked, his controlled breathing added a sense of calm to the atmosphere.

"When I came to, he was holding that vial," he said in a gentle tone. "It was as if I was a spectator in his game."

Turning his attention to the minor cuts, Lowen reached for a small tube containing a healing balm. "This will sting a bit," he gently warned, applying the balm with a feather-light touch to soothe the wounds.

"I'm not sure if I can trigger him," he then said. "And I don't know if I want to after what I saw."

Arya desperately prayed to whatever gods were up there that Lowen wouldn't take what she was about to say personally.
Please understand please understand... she thought to herself.
"But what if I wanted to trigger him? What, is poor old Ipsen scared after that whole incident at the shop? Scared I could easily beat some fucking sense into him?" She settled back into the couch, looking bored.
"It's probably for the best. I don't fight cowards."

As Lowen attentively tended to Arya's wounds, a frown etched on his face, her sudden outburst towards his alter ego Ipsen caught him off guard. Trying to concentrate on the task at hand, a thunderous pain began to sporadically gnaw at his head. Each pulse seemed to synchronize with the conflicting emotions and tensions in the air. Despite the pain, Lowen persisted in his care for Arya, determined to provide comfort amidst the storm brewing within him.

"Hold still," he tried to say through the seething ache at the back of his head.

Arya was determined to lure Ipsen out.
"What, too cowardly to fight?"
She gritted her teeth. The antiseptic he was putting on the cuts hurt.
"Look at me. Ipsen, I know you can hear me. Come out and fight, if you dare."

"Arya, what are you do-" Lowen's sentence was abruptly severed as a searing pain radiated through his head. Collapsing to the ground, he felt an overwhelming pressure building within him. Slowly rising, Ipsen's malevolent black eyes replaced Lowen's usual hazel gaze. Hatred etched across Ipsen's features as he lunged at Arya, seizing her neck in a brutal stranglehold.

"Listen to me you stupid bitch," Ipsen growled, his accent thick with anger. "If it's a fight you want then you got it! I'll squeeze the light out of you! I'll fill you so full of poison it'll be coming out of your eyes!"

Arya bent down beside Lowen when he collapsed.
"Are you alri"— but then he lunged, no longer Lowen, but Ipsen.
This is what Arya wanted, but she wasn't prepared for the intensity with which he came at her. He went straight for her throat, wrapping his hands around her neck.
She grabbed his wrists with both hands, squeezing to attempt to force him to lighten the pressure at least.
And then she kneed him in the groin.

Arya's swift knee found its mark, and Ipsen, grimacing in agony, crumpled to the ground, clutching his injured area with a pained expression. His eyes narrowed in disdain, and through gritted teeth, he spat out words of resentment. "You bitch," he seethed, venom lacing his tone. "Even your little boyfriend, Lowen, will be mad at you for that one."

Arya gasped for air when he let go of her, practically sucking in air to compensate for the lack of oxygen.
She bent over, trying to catch her breath, and groaned. Her ribs were still killing her. Damn Vae just had to do that.
"Yeah?" She taunted.
"Is that all it takes to bring you down? A shame...I thought it would be more difficult. But, I guess the world is full of suprises."

Despite the pain from the forceful knee to his groin, Ipsen flashed Arya a malicious grin. "Human bodies are such fragile things," he sneered before swiftly rebounding, launching himself at her. With a shoulder-driven impact, he tackled her onto the couch, his malevolence evident in the brutal precision of the attack, focusing on her vulnerable ribs. The clash left a momentary silence, broken only by the struggle for breath and the harsh reality of their confrontation.

"Let's see how fragile you are!"

Arya let out a gasp of pain as he tackled her, his shoulder managing to press very painfully into her ribs.
"I might be fragile, Arya grunted,
"But you'll find I'm quite resilient..."
And she launched a swift uppercut at his jaw.
"One thing will never change though...Lowen will always be a better man than you!"

The impact of the uppercut elicited a spit of blood from him, but he responded with a malicious grin. "That's for sure," he hissed, dagger in hand, theatrically waving it through the air. "I'm not a good man, Arya. I don't plan to be."

In a sudden surge, he lunged towards her, aiming to thrust the knife into her neck. However, an unseen force disrupted his trajectory, and his body careened to the side, crashing to the ground with a resounding thud against the echoing walls.

"Damn it, Lowen," he seethed. "Not now!" The frustration laced his voice as he struggled against the unseen influence that hindered his malevolent intent.

Arya got off the couch, grabbing a dagger of her own.
"C'mon Lowen! Fight it! You can do it! Show that bastard Ipsen who's in control!
And she lunged toward Ipsen, ready to try to disarm him and grab his knife, but an extremely sharp pain in her ribs made her double over in pain right before she got to him.
"Fuck!" She forced herself to keep going, and she tackled Ipsen, trying to grab the knife.

Ipsen gave struggle, wrestling until he reversed the roles with Arya now pinned and he on top and in control of the confrontation.

Ipsen's malevolent grin gave way to an unsettling blankness. His knife poised for a deadly plunge, but then the wicked intent in his eyes faded, replaced by the familiar hazel hues of Lowen. Breathless, Lowen tossed his dagger aside, staring at Arya with wide-eyed astonishment.

Then, his expression shifted. "Why the hells did you do that?!" he cried, as l if scolding her. However, his expression shifted again to one of breathless triumph, and he began laughing before collapsing onto her, embracing her in their victory. 

The way Ipsen had her pinned down did not feel very good to her ribs, which by this time she was sure at least some of them had cracked.
This time, Ipsen had complete control.
She felt true, genuine terror this time, as she was forced to gaze into Ipsen's seemingly infinite black eyes.
"Lowen!" She desperately yelled.
"Cmon, you've gotta break through!" Fear tinged her voice, tears building up in her eyes.

She saw him raise the knife.

So, this is how I die. At the hands of an insane, unhinged madman. She sadly thought to herself. She tried one last time.
"LOWEN!" She yelled, making eye contact one last time.
And it broke through, his eyes fading to hazel.
It was too much, and when he collapsed on her she cried, full body sobs, glad to have Lowen back and glad that Lowen was alright.
"I didn't mean any of it, you're a nice guy, I just had to provoke him," she choked out, tightly holding onto him like he was going to disappear.

Lowen teetered on the verge of tears, caught in the tumultuous blend of frustration and elation from the unfolding events. A breathy laugh escaped him, mirroring the complex emotions that surged within. As he held her in return, a wave of unexpected joy compelled him to press a rapid succession of kisses onto her cheek.

"Thank you," he whispered, the words carrying a profound sincerity that echoed in the quiet aftermath. The sentiment lingered as he repeated, "Thank you," a testament to the gratitude that welled up within him, transcending the chaos surrounding them.

Arya took a deep breath, managing a smile.
"It was nothing, really."
A contemplative silence fell on the room.
"Do you—-do you think he's gone permanently?" She cautiously asked, not wanting to trigger Ipsen again.
"You know, you're welcome to stay here...if you don't have anywhere else to go..."

Lowen's expression lit up with joy at her unexpected offer. In the brief time since they met, he had developed a deep fondness for her, finding solace and companionship in her presence. "Oh, um... sure," he responded, a gentle and warm smile gracing his lips. "I can stay if you want me to."

As he realized the close proximity they shared, his face flushed with embarrassment, prompting him to slowly and awkwardly untangle himself from her embrace. "I hope he's gone," he added. "I'd hate for anything to happen to you because of me."

"I've survived him twice now, haven't I? But at least you're slowly being able to control him now."
She also cleared her throat and coughed alittle awkwardly, standing up and then wincing, her ribs probably bruised by now.
"You know, I'm glad I met you, Lowen," she said softly.

On steady ground once more, Lowen's cheeks flush at Arya's words. The accelerated rhythm of his heartbeat catches him off guard, beads of sweat forming on his palms. His gaze lingers on Arya with a mixture of longing and affection, emotions dancing in his eyes.

But he was too much of a coward to act.

"Me too," he barely managed to say.

Arya smiled at him, and then, she felt the effects of the adrenaline wearing off.  The pain rushed back in droves, and she just about doubled over in pain, but managed to stay upright.
"If it's ok with you, I think I'm going to lay down for a little while...this day has taken a lot out of me already."

Lost in the moment of affection and gratitude, Lowen momentarily escaped the gravity of the recent ordeal, a fleeting reprieve from the weight of their shared experience. "Oh," he muttered, abruptly returning to the present before his eyes widened in realization. "Oh! Of course! Here, let me help you."

Moving to her side, he carefully enveloped one of her arms over his shoulder, ensuring to minimize any additional pain or discomfort, and led her into the bedroom. Gentle and considerate, he assisted in settling her onto the bed, delicately removing her shoes and placing them neatly beside her. Seated at the edge of the bed, he paused before meeting her gaze. "Can I get you anything?"

She carefully lied down, wincing alittle and holding her side. "No, I think I'll be ok...I just need to sleep."
And then worry showed on her face, and she looked at Lowen.
"There's still a bounty on Ipsen's head...somehow I need to get it taken down."
And then before she could say anything else she was asleep.

The realization hung heavy in Lowen's mind – a bounty on Ipsen's head meant an imminent threat on his own. Contemplating the consequences, he grappled with the idea of turning himself in for Ipsen's actions, yet the thought of putting Arya at risk struck him with a resolute determination.

As Arya peacefully slept, Lowen's watchful gaze lingered on her. Warmth emanated from his eyes, a silent expression of profound gratitude for her. Silently slipping away, he retreated to the living area, finding solace in the embrace of the couch.

Arya woke up the next morning feeling much better.
She carefully got out of bed and winced, her body reminding her she was still going to have to take it slow.
She walked into the main room.
"Well, I think bounty hunting is off the table for the foreseeable future," she joked, walking over to the couch.
"Did you sleep alright?"

In a rare respite from the haunting dreams that had plagued him for what felt like an eternity, Lowen found himself in a realm of undisturbed slumber. No strange or dreadful visions invaded his subconscious, and as the night unfolded, he drifted through a peaceful void of dreamless sleep.

With a gradual awakening, Lowen blinked his eyes open, the weight of fatigue still lingering. As his senses gradually returned, he was met with a sight that almost made his heart flutter. Arya stood beside him, a silhouette bathed in the gentle hues of dawn that filtered through the windows. The soft morning light cast an ethereal glow around her.

"Yeah," he said simply, giving a smile. "How do you feel?"

"Better than I look, I'm sure."
She yawned, walking into the kitchen.
"Do you want breakfast?" She yelled back at him, grabbing a few eggs from a basket.

His thoughts silently echoed, "You look fine," though he chose to refrain from voicing the observation. Shifting on the couch, he sat upright, weariness clinging to him as he stretched his arms. Lingering pain and discomfort from the events of the previous day persisted, but nothing beyond his capacity to endure.

"Sure!" he called back, a bright smile gracing his face.

In that moment, as he responded with enthusiasm, a rare sense of tranquility enveloped Lowen. It had been a long time since he experienced such a profound level of peace, a welcome respite from the challenges that had marked his days.

She made scrambled eggs, garnishing it with a bit of cilantro and parsley from the small garden she had put back.
She gave one plateful to Lowen and then sat down next to him.
"So what's your plan? I plan to go to the bounty hunters guild and see if I can glean any more info about Ipsen, maybe throw some of the hunters off your tracks."

Accepting the plate with gratitude, Lowen took a bite, attempting to savor the flavors that wafted through the air. It smelled delicious, the keyword being 'trying.'

"Oh," he responded to her question, pausing to finish his bite. "I haven't really thought about it." His grin was sheepish, tinged with a bit of embarrassment. "Last night was the first in ages I didn't have any nightmares, and nothing seems to have happened, so maybe he's gone? I can clear out if you need me to."

Despite not wanting to overextend his welcome, the hesitation in his voice hinted at a desire to stay.

"No, no, you're welcome to stay as long as you would like to," and she smiled reassuringly, finishing her food and taking her plate to the kitchen.
"I have a few things to settle at the guild, then I'll be back. You're welcome to stay here while I'm gone. I shouldn't be gone long."

Lowen felt a surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Unlike Ipsen, who never showed tears, Lowen was the embodiment of emotional sensitivity. Battling against the urge to cry, he held back the tears, not wanting to add any more concern to Arya. After composing himself, he finished his breakfast before turning his attention to her.

"Thank you," he expressed softly, his gaze drifting down to the table. "I appreciate this more than you know. Thanks."

Arya smiled.
"You're welcome. It's not every day I get to help someone fight off an inner demon."

Arya went to the bounty hunter's guild, marking Ipsen as Unreachable. It took a lot of arguing with the guild leader. Money changed hands. Ipsen's name was taken off...for now. But in return Arya was expected to find someone else. Someone just as dangerous. It was worth it though, if it protected Lowen. She didn't really know why she'd grown so fond of the fellow.

————————————————————-

She opened the door to her cabin and walked in, taking off her cloak and hanging it on the coat rack.
"Oh for the love of my sanity it is absolutely pouring buckets out there!" She shook her head, getting the water out of her ears.

Lowen couldn't sit idly as Arya handled business at the guild; his restless energy compelled him to find something to do. Looking around Arya's house, he noticed a layer of dust settling on various surfaces. Deciding to channel his energy into a productive outlet, he fetched cleaning supplies and started dusting, wiping away the accumulated neglect.

As he moved through the rooms, he couldn't help but rearrange a few items to create a more organized and welcoming atmosphere. A small smile formed on his face as he imagined Arya returning to a refreshed and tidy home. The scent of cleaning products filled the air, accompanied by the rhythmic hum of a voice.

His next task was the kitchen. Lowen found himself humming a tune as he scrubbed countertops and washed dishes. Spotting a neglected coffee maker, he decided to brew a pot of coffee, hoping the rich aroma would add an extra touch of comfort to the revitalized space. The sound of percolating coffee filled the air, creating a cozy ambiance that mirrored his growing sense of satisfaction with the impromptu cleaning spree.

Upon her arrival, he eyed her with a cheery smile. "Hey, you're back!" he said excitedly, extending a fresh cup of coffee in her direction. "How did it go?"

Arya gasped as she stepped inside her cabin. The place looked beautiful. Better than she's had it looking for a long time.
"Wow, Lowen, thank you," she said. She could smell the coffee he had made. It smelt amazing.
"The guild visit went pretty well. The leader agreed to mark Ipsen 'Unreachable', per a few conditions, which can be easily met."
Arya happily took the offered coffee from Lowen.
"Thank you. You read my mind! I was thinking when I got home I'd make a fresh pot of coffee."
"Do you think Ipsen is gone for good?"

Deep within the recesses of Lowen's mind, a suppressed storm raged. Unbeknownst to him, Ipsen's furious screams echoed, directed at both him and Arya, while sinister plots of his return unfolded in the shadows.

Oh you wish I was gone for good, Scarface. Don't worry baby, I'll be back. I know you've been waiting on a real man to rough and tumble with, and poor little "La-La-Lowen" here will be gone for good.

Lowen smiled softly, proud of the work that he had done in Arya's house and even happier to see the smile on her face for it, before taking a sip from his own mug. "I think he might be," he said with relief. "Thank you, Arya. Thank you so much. You mentioned conditions? Anything I can help with?"

"Well," she said, drawing a folded paper out of her pocket, "I'm supposed to locate this elf...he's been causing problems in southern Adela, apparently he's been threatening to kill some of the dragons? I guess he's already injured one. So I'm supposed to see if I can locate him."
She took a sip of her coffee.
"Funny, because I used to be a dragon poacher. It wasn't worth it," she said, a tinge of regret showing in her hazel eyes.

Lowen took another sip of his coffee, studying her face and her expression. He did not know how much help he could offer her, especially in a potentially dangerous situation, but he would certainly try. He owed her that.

"You okay?" he asked, seeing the slight guilt building in her eyes.

"A while ago...I killed a dragon in its sleep. I was paid to, but that didn't make it right. I fucked up, big time...I've never killed a dragon since."
She set down her coffee, sadness in her eyes.
"I've been wishing for a way to make things right somehow..."

Hoo boy. Ya hear that Lowen? This dumb bitch killed a dragon. And this is the woman you have the hots for? You picked a real winner.

"Oh, Arya," Lowen replied quietly, placing his mug down before moving to her and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You can make it right. How can I help?"

"Honestly, I'm not even sure where to start myself. But, I think having you here with me is help enough already. I kindof owe you a debt, considering I chased you down and threatened to kill you," Arya said, smiling at Lowen, and finishing her coffee.

"What are you talking about?" Lowen exclaimed with a wide grin, approaching her with genuine warmth. "You helped me with Ipsen, got the bounty off my back. You were there for me when no one else was. You don't owe me a thing, but I owe you everything."

He gently took her hands in his own, the lingering raindrops on her fingertips merging with his. With a thumb, he massaged the wetness out of her hands, a small, tender gesture that spoke volumes.

Suddenly aware of his actions, a crimson hue spread across his face, and he withdrew his hands.

You are such a bitch, Lowen! Quit cowering like a little girl, be a man! She clearly isn't that picky if she's keeping us around

Arya found her heart racing when Lowen took her hands in his.
But then his face turned crimson and he let go of her hands. Arya gently grabbed his hands in her own, looking into his eyes.
"It's ok, Lowen. You've gone through a lot. Probably much more than me. I mean, you've struggled with a literal demon that's tried to take over you for who knows how long."

"I.. Arya, I.."

Feeling Arya's warm hands in his, Lowen met her gaze, the heat in his face slowly subsiding. Yet, the rapid thudding of his heart persisted, a testament to the emotions swirling within him. As Arya looked deep into his eyes, something within him snapped. With a sudden surge of determination, Lowen leaned in and kissed her, giving in to the intense emotions that he had developed for her in the short span of time they had known each other.

Unknown to Lowen, in the shadowy corners of his own mind, Ipsen's malevolent presence lingered like a sinister specter. As Lowen gave Arya that heartfelt kiss, Ipsen grinned with dark satisfaction, weaving his nefarious plans behind the scenes. He relished the opportunity to use this intimate moment against them, patiently biding his time for the perfect moment to unleash the storm he had been brewing.

Well, well, well.. Who knew you had it in you?

Arya froze for just the slightest split second, her brain processing what was happening, before leaning in and kissing him back.

Her lips met his with a tender warmth, the residue of raindrops that clung to her clothing mingling with the taste of the kiss. He needed this. Instinctively, his hands embarked on a journey of exploration – one tenderly cupping her face in a fleeting moment of intimacy as the kiss deepened, then descending to find a place at her waist. Captivated by the passion of the moment, his grip shifted, scooping her up from beneath her legs with an impromptu decision that carried them both into the bedroom.

One second she was on the couch, and the next she found herself in Lowen's arms, being carried. Her back hit the bed, and she drew him down for another kiss. It was almost as if she was searching for something, looking for something. Gods she needed him as much as he needed her.
"Don't leave me," she whispered.

Don't leave me.

Why did those words fill him with an overwhelming sense of happiness? It was a question that lingered in Lowen's mind as the rush of emotions and a tingling sensation swept over his skin, creating a cascade of pleasant sensations. "I won't," he whispered in reassurance before reuniting their lips, the promise hanging in the air. His focus then shifted to the tender exploration of her neck, his hands skillfully navigating the buttons of his shirt as their connection deepened.

Arya assisted Lowen in taking off his shirt, and then trailed open-mouthed kisses down his neck and chest.
"You're beautiful," she whispered.

Lowen's breath mingled with Arya's as they shared passionate kisses, the intensity building between them. In a momentary pause between their fervent exchanges, he whispered, "You're," a kiss, "the most beautiful," and another, "person," and the another, "I've ever met." His words hung in the air, filled with genuine affection and desire. As one hand delicately moved to remove Arya's shirt, the other worked on loosening the restraint of his own pants, the connection between them growing more intimate with each passing second.

He pressed soft kisses along her neck, trailing down to her chest, savoring the moments that led to the removal of their clothes, which now lay abandoned on the floor. His voice, a tender whisper, conveyed an earnest desire, "I need you."

Arya felt aflame with desire, her passion delving into hunger. Hunger for Lowen. His words made her feel so...happy. Was it too soon to say she loved him? This sure felt like love.
Every time he kissed her it just heightened her emotions more.
"Lowen...I need you too."

Just as he needed her, she needed him, and so he gave her all of him.

As they connected intimately, their desires and needs entwined. His tender movements mirrored the ebb and flow of waves, creating a rhythm that transcended mere lust into a realm of profound connection. Feeling her warmth, he couldn't help but smile, locking eyes with her in a moment that transcended mere physicality.

He dipped down for a kiss as he felt her love on him, and his hand delicately cradled her cheek.

Arya felt him slide into her. It felt so...so right, like they had been made for each other.
When he dipped down to kiss her she kissed back, deeply, lost in the pleasurable sensations.
"Lowen...I'm close," she moaned, breaking the kiss to kiss his neck just below his jaw.

"Me too," he breathed with a smile, feeling the pressure build up inside him and desperate for a release.

The evening continued and bore witness to their intense and passionate love making, each second more cherished and pleasurable than the last.

When it was over, they found comfort in each others arms as they drifted into sleep.

——


Lowen awoke to the soft warmth of the morning sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on Arya beside him. A tender kiss on her cheek expressed his desire for her to enjoy a few more moments of rest. Slipping out of bed, he padded quietly to the kitchen, the aroma of brewing coffee filling the air.

Seated on the couch, the comforting embrace of solitude surrounded him. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the room as he took a sip, the warmth coursing through him. However, a subtle unease began to creep into his mind, accompanied by a faint throbbing in his temples.

Initially dismissing it, Lowen felt a shadow of concern form. The dull throb intensified, a relentless drumbeat echoing through his head. Panic flickered in his eyes as the worry of Ipsen's influence clawed at him. Yet, he resisted the notion, unwilling to accept that his past tormentor could disrupt this newfound connection.

As the headache intensified, Lowen's breath shuddered. He closed his eyes, leaning his head down slightly, grappling with the pain that seemed to reverberate through every fiber of his being.

And then..

*click*

Arya slept amazing. Better than she had in what felt like years.

When she woke up, she could smell coffee brewing. She smiled, stretching and then getting out of bed, waking to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee.
Damn, Lowen could make better coffee than she could. She smiled, taking a sip. The coffee was strong, but not bitter.
Arya walked into the living room, and then her eyes fell on Lowen.
"Lowen, is everything alright?" She concernedly asked, rushing to his side.

As he raised his head, the atmosphere in the room seemed to shift. The coffee in hand, Lowen's eyes, once warm and filled with affection for Arya, transformed into an empty abyss. Ipsen, the darker alter ego, had taken control. The intensity of the black void in his gaze conveyed an unsettling shift in demeanor.

Slowly sipping his coffee, he peered up at Arya, and in a whispered, menacing tone, he uttered, "Hello, lover. Miss me?" The words carried an ominous weight, sending a chill down the spine, as Ipsen's presence overshadowed the room, casting an eerie shadow over the once warm and familiar space.

And then he smiled. A terrible, wicked smile.

Arya wasn't expecting Ipsen to come back. She thought he was gone. That they had gotten rid of him.
Her face paled, and she took a step back. Her weapons were all in the other room. Or in the loft. Which, Ipsen was conveniently sitting in the way of.
"What do you want?" she shakily asked.
"Why do you keep terrorizing Lowen? Can't you leave him alone?" She was getting angrier and less afraid the more she spoke.
She knew she couldn't kill Ipsen, because that would mean the death of Lowen.
"Can't you possess someone else? If you're such a scary person why don't you let me fight the real you. Fucking coward!" Her voice, originally shaking from fear, was now shaking from injustice and anger. Who knows how many people Ipsen has killed.

Ipsen smirked before lifting his knife and skillfully twirling the hilt between his fingers. "Oh come on, Arya," he said with that wild look in his eyes. "We past that, ain't we? I mean, I practically had you myself if you think about it."

He stood up abruptly, his grip on the blade now solid and sturdy. "I mean, I get it. He's hung like a horse and dumb as a brick, so why wouldn't someone as pathetic as you go for him? But you got a real man now baby."

His eyes narrowed and then he smiled again, lingering on her words. "Possess someone else? Maybe, but I'll tell you what," with a swift movement, he put a knife to his own neck to the point to where a single line of blood dripped down to his collar. "You're going to do exactly what I say unless you want ol' lover boy here dead on the floor."

A chill ran down her spine when Ipsen put the knife to his own throat. This man was unhinged.
"Ok ok, don't do anything stupid," Arya cautiously said, keeping her hands where Ipsen could see them.
"What do you want me to do?"

"Good, that's a good girl," he said slowly, taking a step backward and closer to the door. "I need you to get some information for me, a man that goes by the name of Luka. I want it in twenty-four hours."

His smile, wicked and demonic, never left as he tilted his head - as if studying her. "If you don't meet me at the docks in twenty-four hours," he started again, "bye bye lover boy."

He took another step backward to the exit before speaking again. "Don't worry, I'll let you watch. Then maybe I'll possess you next."

Another step.

"And with your hands.."

One more step.

"Kill everyone you've ever loved."

And he was out the door.

"How the fuck am I supposed to find this guy?!!? Motherfucker. And what information do you want? Do I get a description of the guy?"
She flipped Lowen off as he left.
"Well you can't possess me if you can't find me, can you?" She was so angry she had no fear left. Just pure anger.
"Find Luka...yeah I'll find Luka...maybe I'll kill Luka for good measure."
She slammed the door to her cabin angrily, sitting on her couch.
"Damned Ipsen."
She grabbed a sword and two daggers, and then left, running to the tavern near the docks. Might as well start there.

Ipsen prowled through the desolate streets, a sinister phantom untethered from morality. His eyes, once filled with Lowen's warmth, now gleamed with a malevolence that sent shivers down the spine. The bustling town became his hunting ground, each step echoing the malevolent rhythm of impending chaos. As he sought his fix, the air thickened with an unspoken dread, the hot sun casting a glare on the unfolding nightmare.

Ipsen's actions spoke of a profound darkness. He took pleasure in the macabre dance of red, slashing through the streets with a frenzy akin to a twisted artist. The shadows clung to him like accomplices, bearing witness to the ruthless symphony of bloodshed. The unsuspecting victims fell prey to his cold, calculated strikes, their pleas for mercy unheard in the deafening silence that followed each life extinguished. The streets, once serene, now bore the scars of Ipsen's unhinged hunger, a testament to the malevolent force that had taken control.

His face adorned droplets of blood, his clothes soaked red, and a wicked smile curled into his lips as he gazed down on the body of his latest kill.

It was an addiction. He needed to kill. It helped him release.

"Okay, lover," he whispered to himself. "I'll see you soon."

Arya spent the first 20 hours looking around the tavern. Searching the docks, asking the crews of ships. Nobody had heard of a Luka.
Arya got to the tavern, and discreetly asked around. She spent 4 hours observing people. 24 hours had passed and finally, she approached the bartender. He looked at her like she was insane.
"Look, Arya, there is no Luka here! I've never heard of a Luka either. How much have you had to drink?" The bartender slid her a glass of water.
Arya groaned, didn't even drink the glass of water, and stormed out of the tavern. She was pissed. Boy was she pissed. She drew her dagger and headed to the docks. The 24th hour was up.


"Ipsen! IPSEN!" She angrily yelled. She hadn't forgotten what he had threatened to do, but she was angry.

The night hung heavily over the town, its inky tendrils wrapping around the streets like a shroud of mystery. Ipsen, masked as Lowen, moved swiftly through the labyrinth of narrow alleys, his footsteps barely audible against the cobblestone. The shadows danced around him, concealing his malevolent intent as he navigated the dimly lit passages, always one step ahead of the authorities.

As the chase unfolded, the pulsating rhythm of his heart matched the rapid beats of his fleeing steps. The adrenaline coursing through his veins heightened his senses, amplifying every footfall and gasp of breath. The town seemed to hold its breath, an eerie silence descending upon the alleys, disturbed only by the haunting echoes of Ipsen's movements.

Suddenly, he found himself "cornered" by the authorities, surrounded in a narrow alley. The flickering lamplight created an ominous ambiance as they closed in, their stern expressions illuminated in the muted glow. Ipsen, concealed in the darkness, watched with a sinister grin as Arya emerged from the shadows, her eyes fixed on him.

The tension in the air thickened as the realization struck Lowen from inside of Ipsen's consciousness - he was ensnared in Ipsen's web of deception. His hands, once innocent, now stained with the metaphorical and literal blood spilled during Ipsen's malevolent escapade. Panic surged through him like a torrential wave, drowning any semblance of composure. The shadows, once his refuge, now whispered the haunting truth of his unwitting involvement in Ipsen's dark machinations.

As Arya drew nearer, Ipsen relinquished control, letting Lowen resurface. Panic consumed him, like a relentless tempest tearing through the fragments of his consciousness. Ipsen's wicked smile lingered within as Lowen, bewildered and stained, faced the consequences of his unwitting role in the malevolent dance orchestrated by the sinister puppeteer.

One of the lawmen, drawing his sword, pointed the tip in Lowen's direction, and hissed the command.

"Kill him!"

Oh this was just wonderful.

Arya couldn't believe she was about to do this.
She ran in front of the guards with her own sword drawn, staring all of them down.
"Look at him! Let me kill him!"
Gods, Ipsen had really gone on a rampage. His clothes were soaked through with blood.

She acted like she was pissed, and marched up to Lowen, pressing her sword against his throat.
"Fine, you son of a bitch, I give up. You killed how many people? And for what? Because you felt like it?"
Under her breath, she whispered,
"I know you're really shaken up right now, but you're going to have to act like Ipsen if you want to survive this. Take me hostage."

Act like Ipsen..?

Oh!

Awkwardly attempting to emulate Ipsen's menacing demeanor, Lowen hesitated as he swung Arya around, his blade positioned somewhat hesitantly near her neck, careful not to harm her. In a nervous attempt to mimic a threat, he called out to the imagined law enforcement, stumbling over his words, "Not another step or the girl gets it! Stay back, you buttheads!" The incongruity of his niceness made the act less convincing, but he hoped it would work anyway.

The guards glanced at each other, then glanced suspiciously at "Ipsen" and the girl in front of them. She looked scared enough, but all of a sudden the murderer they were chasing didn't seem to be as much of a murderer as a confused man.
The lead guard stepped forward.
"I don't believe you," he growled, holding his sword ready.

"Yes you do!" Lowen shot back.

As Lowen attempts to play his role, his voice quivers with nervousness as he blurts out, "Stay back or I'll... um, I'll kill her! Yeah, I'll kill her so hard!" His attempt to sound menacing is comically undermined by his awkward delivery. With Arya in tow, they step backward, the riverbank looming behind them as he struggles to maintain a semblance of menace.

The guards press forward until Arya and Lowen are practically trapped, the riverbank behind them, the guards in front of them.

Arya is internally screaming. This man probably couldn't hurt a fly. Unlike his opposite counterpart.
Arya had enough, so she simply pushed both her and Lowen into the river, the guards rushing forward with an alarmed cry. 

The river's violent currents tore at Lowen and Arya, throwing them into a chaotic game of struggle against the relentless force. Lowen fought against the water's grip, desperately attempting to swim toward Arya as the river tossed him like a ragdoll. His head plunged beneath the surface, only to resurface gasping for air.

Every stroke felt like a battle against an invisible enemy, the churning waters threatening to separate them further. The relentless current showed no mercy, pushing them relentlessly downstream. With each surge, Lowen strained to maintain his bearings, his determination fueling his fight against the unforgiving force of the river.

"Arya!" he managed to shout out before the river once again took him under.

One second Lowen had a grip on Arya, the next the river tore her away. Honestly, Arya didn't know what she was thinking, but she had to do something earlier. She wasn't the best swimmer. Probably should have thought about that before she pushed both her and Lowen into the river. The river pulled her under and she managed to take a deep breath.
Oh gods, she couldn't find Lowen. She surfaced, and she could hear him calling for her. She swam as hard as she could, barely managing to stay above the water.
"Lowen!" She yelled as loud as she could, exhausted from swimming and feeling like she could just sleep right now.

In the tumultuous river's grasp, Lowen felt his strength waning, his cries for Arya silenced by the relentless rush of water. Desperation set in, his mouth filling with the chilling liquid. Just when the river threatened to claim him, he spotted Arya struggling nearby. Summoning the last vestiges of his fading strength, he propelled himself toward her, clasping her form in a desperate embrace as he struggled back to the surface.

Finally breaching the water's edge, Lowen took Arya's hand in a firm grip, mustering every ounce of energy to drag them onto solid ground. Gasping for precious air, both sprawled on the soil, their chests heaving as they clung to the precarious gift of survival. The intensity of the river's wrath lingered in the air, underscoring the harrowing struggle for life and breath.

Arya was so tired....the water was calling to her, the water closing in on all sides.
Sleep...
Calm...
Her eyes closed, and then Lowen's arms wrapped around her and he pulled her up, breaking the surface of the water. When he got them to shore, she instinctively clung to him, very tightly hugging him, breathing hard from exertion.

Upon reaching the shore, Lowen felt the tight embrace of Arya enveloping him, the comforting warmth of her presence grounding him in the aftermath of the river's turmoil. Reciprocating the hug, he closed his eyes, seeking solace in the connection between them. Unnoticed by him, as his eyelids concealed his hazel gaze, a momentary flicker of darkness consumed his pupils, painting them in an ominous shade of black.

Reopening his eyes, now returned to their natural hue, Lowen found himself cradling Arya's face with his hands. A surge of emotions lingered in the air, and in a tender moment of shared vulnerability, he pressed his lips to hers. Unbeknownst to both, an ethereal presence, invisible yet profound, transferred from him to her.

Arya felt something...something unspeakably evil almost ghost over her. As if it was going through her but also just passing over the top of her.
She shivered for a second, and then broke the kiss, sitting upright and clutching her head.
Oh no.
Oh no.
Her whole body tensed, as if all of her muscles were cramping at the same time.
She let go of Lowen, her hazel eyes wide with...confusion...fear.
Arya stumbled over to a tree, and started hitting her head against it.
Once.
Twice.
The third time, she slumped against the tree, unnaturally limp.
Then, she whirled around, facing Lowen again, blood running down her face, a crazed, unnaturally wide deranged grin on her face. Her eyes were completely white.
"Lover boy," she taunted, casually breaking a branch off the tree she had just hit her head on.

Perplexed at first, Lowen watched Arya, his brows furrowed in confusion. As she purposefully banged her head against the tree, his confusion turned to horror. He can't hold back his concern any longer, his words a desperate plea, "What are you doing? Stop it! You're scaring me!" His hands reach out, as if trying to halt the inexplicable and alarming actions before him.

And then that look.

That face.

The blood.

Her words.

Her eyes.

"Arya?" he quietly pleaded, though deep down he knew it was no longer her.

"Arya is gone," the voice inside Arya growled.
"I've waited so long for this. Ever since she dared touch what is mine. You. Are. Mine.
Maybe we should get rid of this ğirl body, hmmm? Ipsen drew a dagger from Arya's belt and teasingly held it up to her neck, making a slitting motion with his free hand.
"Arya would never know. Arya would never know," he taunted
"Or, you kill her. Slowly. So she feels every second of her agonizing death. So her last memory is you, her "lover boy", killing her."
Ipsen laughed, a bone-chilling laugh. He flipped the knife and held it out to Lowen.
"The choice is yours."

As Lowen laid eyes on Arya, or rather the distorted visage of Ipsen wearing her appearance, an icy chill gripped his heart. The air seemed to thicken with an otherworldly tension, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His breath hitched, caught in the claws of terror. Ipsen's malevolent grin mirrored Arya's face, twisting it into a grotesque mockery. Lowen's own reflection in her eyes seemed distorted, a ghastly image of fear etched across his features.

So this is Ipsen...

His connection with Arya, once familiar, now felt like a cage, and every heartbeat echoed in his ears, a rhythmic drumming of impending doom. As Ipsen's voice cut through the air, Lowen's body tensed, paralyzed by the realization that the nightmares of his past had found a way to claw into his present in a new and horrifying way.

"I can't.. I-I won't," he stammered, his feet like cement in the soil. "Don't you dare hurt her! Take me back instead! Please!"

"Hurt her? No, there's better ways besides physical pain. Like," and Ipsen tapped his chin, "going into town...and killing someone. Imagine her horror when the authorities started chasing after her instead?"
Ipsen walked closer to Lowen, getting uncomfortably close.
"Maybe," and he leaned in to whisper in Lowen's ear, "maybe I'll tell her about your parents. A shame." And Ipsen shook his head mockingly.
"It's a shame she doesn't know your true past, lover boy."

If he had not been in Arya's body, Lowen may have taken a swing.

"My parents," he whispered, eyes wide in disbelief. "My past?"

Lowen wrestled with conflicting emotions as he confronted Ipsen's possession of Arya. Despite the horror of witnessing Arya's vulnerability, a part of him yearned to free her, even if it meant allowing Ipsen back into himself. Ipsen's knowledge of Lowen's past, particularly details about his parents and a forgotten history, teased at the edges of his consciousness. It was a haunting revelation, stirring a complex mixture of desperation and dread within Lowen. The answers he sought about his own past seemed to dangle just out of reach, entangled with the sinister presence of Ipsen.

"What do you know about my past?" he asked quietly, his guard up but also his emotions.

"Oh I know a lot...but how much do you want to know? How much are you willing to give up?"
"The truth might break you, make you question everything you knew."
Ipsen drew back, playing with the knife in his hands.
"How about a deal, hmmm? I keep Arya. In exchange for the information you want. And maybe...maybe I'll leave you alone for good." He laughed maniacally.
"Isn't that what you want? You never really loved this," and he gestured to Arya's body.
"You just saw her as a means to an end. Right, Lowen?"
He got up and got near Lowen again, pressing the knife to his neck.
"Because you're mine."

"You're wrong!"

Lowen's words carried a decisive edge, slicing through the air with determination. To hells with his past! He would unearth those secrets on his own - he would not cut a deal with the devil. He'd never knowingly jeopardize Arya's life by entrusting it to Ipsen.

Urgency fueled his thoughts as he pondered what had transpired when Ipsen took over Arya. The river, the struggle, the embrace...

The kiss.

With an intense glare at Ipsen, he pressed harder into the blade, blood trailing down his neck. "I love Arya," he declared resolutely. "Give. Her. Back!"

Without hesitation, he seized the possessed Arya's face with his hands, forcefully locking lips with her. Even within Arya's form, the kiss felt unnatural and metallic.

He could only hope this would work.

Lowen moved really fast, and with an enraged scream, Ipsen moved back into Lowen, causing Arya to collapse to the ground, not unconscious, just extremely weak and confused.
Her eyes slowly changed back to their normal hazel, and she blinked a few times.
"L-Lowen? Where...where are we? What happened?"

Lowen quickly knelt down next to Arya, propping her up with his arm behind her back, and his free hand brushed strands of hair away from her face. His expression reflected a mix of worry and a touch of relief. "You didn't remember?" he asked, realizing the complexity of the situation. It dawned on him that, much like his own experience, Arya might have had no recollection of her time being possessed by Ipsen.

Investigating Ipsen's ability to control others was on his agenda, highlighting that Ipsen wasn't merely another facet of Lowen. Unfortunately, time wasn't on his side.

The distant sound of guards' whistles reached his ears, and he spotted them approaching. Quickly surveying the surroundings, Lowen identified some familiar landmarks from his travels. The river had taken them a considerable distance, but it seemed just far enough for Spike to know of a suitable place for them to seek refuge.

Without giving Arya a chance to speak, he addressed her urgently, "I'll explain everything later, but right now we're not safe, and we can't go back home. Come with me."

Arya also heard the guards.
"They're after us?"
She pressed a hand to her forehead and groaned.
"I feel like I fell off a cliff."
But she took his hand, and slowly stood up.
"Ok. I think I can follow. Where are we going?"

He really didn't have time to explain. He didn't have time, nor did he want, to explain that they were close to an abandoned house he would sometimes seek refuge in. He didn't have time or care to elaborate on why they were running and would be hiding out in an old house full of creepy dolls.

"Arya, shut your beautiful mouth and just follow me," he smiled, taking her hand, and running.

She blushed at Lowen's comment but followed him, practically not having a choice as he ran.
She gripped Lowen's hand tightly.
"How far away is this place?" She curiously asked.

"Half-hour," came his short, heavy breathed response.

As Arya and Lowen sprinted along the riverbank, the rhythmic pounding of their footsteps echoed in tandem with the guards in pursuit. The moonlight filtered through the dense canopy overhead, casting fleeting shadows in their wake. Lowen's instincts guided them through a swift turn, veering into the woods, where the guards struggled to match their pace.

Dodging through tangled branches, their breaths ragged, they emerged in front of an old cabin nestled in the heart of the woods. Its timeworn façade wore the scars of abandonment, the windows staring vacantly, as if harboring secrets from a bygone era. The eerie silence enveloped the scene, broken only by the distant murmur of the river and the fading echoes of the pursuing guards.

"We can stay here tonight," Lowen spoke quietly. "I know how to get in."

"Won't the guards search the house?" Arya anxiously asked, looking behind her.
"This cabin looks...interesting. Did you used to live here?"

"I doubt anyone would come here or even find this place," he said before moving to the front door, meticulously working the knob through experienced usage.

The creaky door swung open, and Lowen ushered Arya into the eerie silence of the old abandoned cabin. The only illumination emanated from the moon, casting feeble rays through a tattered curtain on the window, creating a dim, mysterious ambiance.

The interior, a vast, open space, felt musty and worn-down. Dust particles danced in the meager moonlight that filtered through the air. A single, worn-out bed in the corner, its linens tainted with age, stood as the only testament to any past habitation.

The sparse furnishings hinted at a forgotten history. Shelves lined with dust-laden relics revealed a peculiar collection – an array of dilapidated dolls and puppets. Their vacant eyes seemed to follow the intruders, casting a ghostly presence over the room. The eerie ensemble enhanced the unsettling atmosphere, invoking a sense of abandonment and echoing memories long left behind.

The floor creaked beneath their steps, as if the very structure retained a spectral memory of the lives that once animated this desolate space.

"Home sweet home," Lowen exhaled with a dry smile. "This is embarrassing, but.. I stay here sometimes. When I have no where else to go."

The place looked frozen in time, an image heartening back to an older past.
Arya looked around the simple room, her eyes resting on the shelf of dolls.

Oh.

Oh hell no.

She shrieked and practically jumped on Lowen, hiding her face in his shoulder, holding onto him tightly.

"Is this a joke to you? You think this is funny? No no no, the dolls have to go!"

She cautiously looked at them again, and then promptly went back to hiding.
"They're looking at me!" Her voice came out muffled.

He couldn't help but muster a grin and a small chuckle. "I wouldn't have expected you to be scared of little dolls," he teased, kissing her on the forehead. "Don't worry - I've stayed here plenty of times. It's creepy, yes, but it's safe." He paused for a moment, contemplating how to make Arya more comfortable with their arrangements, before adding, "Just a minute," and moving away from her.

Lowen meticulously gathered the assortment of dolls and puppets strewn about the room, their eyes seemingly fixed on some unseen spectacle. Each one was carefully tucked away in the confines of a dusty closet, their lifeless gazes hidden from view. As he straightened up, satisfied with the tidiness, his attention was drawn to a lone puppet perched atop the fireplace mantle.

This particular puppet, with its beady eyes and worn fabric, seemed to hold an eerie fascination with the bed. Disturbed by its unsettling stare, Lowen approached, his fingers grasping its small form. With a deft twist, he repositioned the puppet to face the wall, shielding it from the gaze of the bed.

As he turned away, his back shielding the subtle changes from Arya's view, Lowen couldn't shake the feeling of a momentary weight in his hands. The doll, now facing the wall, felt different, its presence slightly altered. Dismissing it as fatigue-induced imagination, he shrugged off the peculiar sensation and rejoined Arya with a forced smile, concealing the brief, unexplained disturbance.

"Better?" he asked sweetly before rejoining her.

"Why are the dolls here?" Arya asked Lowen as he went about the room rearranging the dolls.
"What sicko collects dolls? Ok well, that seems like an Ipsen thing. Ipsen would collect dolls."
Her eyes fell on the puppet sitting on top of the mantle.
The puppet's eyes looked like they had once been alive. But now they were blank, unfeeling, seemingly frozen open.

That Night

Arya nervously crawled into bed, the persistent, ominous feeling not leaving her.
"Lowen? At—at the river...what happened? I have a gap like I was unconscious or something." She was asking because she wanted to know but also to take her mind off of the dolls.

Lowen settled onto the bed, his eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and determination. He gently took Arya's hand in his, a gesture meant to convey both support and sincerity.

"Arya, there's something you need to know," he began, his voice steady. "Ipsen, the entity that used to control me, somehow managed to take control of you. Those gaps in your memory, the moments where you feel like time has slipped away – those are similar to what I used to experience when Ipsen held sway over me."

He paused, searching her eyes for understanding. "When I kissed you, it was an attempt to break his hold on you, or at least bring him back into me. It's a risky move, and I'm not entirely sure if it worked as intended. He might be dormant within you now, or he might have returned to me. The truth is, I'm not sure."

Lowen sighed, the weight of the situation evident in his expression. "I wanted to free you from his control, Arya. I thought I could outsmart him, but he found a way back. We're back to where we started, and I'm sorry for that. I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe, and together, we'll find a way to rid ourselves of Ipsen for good."

He began rubbing his temples, the stress and tension of Ipsen's acts lingering in his thoughts. "We should sleep. It's getting late."

As Lowen explained everything, suprise and then fear showed in Arya's eyes, then it was replaced by concern.
"Lowen, if he takes control of me again, and he tries to hurt you...you'll have to stop me. I won't feel the pain anyways, if it's Ipsen in control. And I won't remember anything."
"I was the one that provoked him into possessing me. But, together, Lowen, we're stronger than he is. We can fight him. We've done it before. It can be done. And we'll do it," she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, "Together."
"And I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe, Lowen. It's not your fault you've got a demon maniac thing trying to ruin your life."
She sighed and laid back on the bed, reaching over to rub Lowen's shoulder.
"I'll only sleep if you sleep."

"Goodnight then," he replied softly, taking her into his arms as he laid beside her. He slung the covers over them as he nestled in close, feeling her heartbeat against him he held her close.

As they began drifting, his thoughts became a tumultuous storm swirling within the confines of his troubled mind. The revelation of holding Ipsen within him had unraveled the mystery behind his blackouts, exposing the dark deeds committed with his own body. The weight of guilt bore heavily on his conscience, a burden he had reluctantly come to accept.

However, the complexity of his predicament had intensified. Arya, sweet Arya, had unwittingly become entangled in the sinister game that Ipsen played. The thought of her enduring the same torment gnawed at Lowen's soul, a sharp ache accentuated by the burgeoning feelings he found himself harboring for her. Love, a delicate and unexpected bloom amidst the chaos, only added another layer of torment to his already burdened heart. How could he forgive himself for inadvertently dragging her into this this? The realization of his unwitting involvement in her suffering cast a shadow over any flicker of happiness he might have found in their shared moments.

Breathing the thoughts away, he kissed the top of her head, and soon slipped into sleep.

---

The room lay in near-complete darkness, the only illumination seeping through the gaps in the worn-out curtains. Lowen and Arya were lost in the embrace of sleep until a sudden and jarring thud pierced the silence, wrenching them from their dreams.

Lowen's eyes blinked open wearily, adjusting to the dimness. He scanned the room, a perplexed frown forming on his face. Nothing seemed amiss until his gaze landed on the mantle, and the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. The doll, previously perched there, was now missing.

Attempting to dismiss the unease creeping over him, he attempted to lay back down. However, a strange weight descended upon the covers, casting an ominous shadow over the room. A chilling dread clawed at Lowen's senses as he slowly turned his gaze forward.

There it was—the doll, a sinister entity of twisted porcelain, dragging itself across the covers toward them with one its little nubbed arms. Its beady eyes, once lifeless, now gleamed with malevolence, and a grotesque smile contorted its tiny face. Fear gripped Lowen's heart as the doll advanced with an unnatural determination, its movement accompanied by a haunting, rhythmic scraping sound.

Lowen's mind raced with terror as he and Arya became prisoners in their own bed, facing the relentless approach of the animated doll—a harbinger of something far more sinister lurking in the shadows.

"Oh no," he managed to croak, his throat swelling with fear. "Oh hells no!"

Arya slept well, snuggled in Lowen's arms and feeling safe and content.

Then a crash echoed throughout the small space and Arya startled awake, groaning and rubbing her eyes.
"Lowen, if you dropped the coffee pot I swear—" but then she realized. They weren't at her cabin, they were in the getaway cabin Lowen found.

Oh gods no.

And it wasn't morning, it was still the middle of the night, and a dark had settled over everything. It was the kind of darkness you could almost feel.
It was unbearingly quiet...until you could hear a drag that sounded and echoed across the room.
Arya's eyes widened and she hastily sat up, shaking Lowen.
"Lowen, wake up, wake up!" Her voice was tinged with terror.
She reached out to the nightstand for her sheathed knife, grabbing it.
What good would it do against a possessed doll? Probably nothing.
Her mind began racing. What could the damn thing want?

"W-what do you want?" Her voice coming out shaky.

"Ipsen want to play! Ipsen want to play! Play all day! Play all day! Ipsen here to stay!"

Of course it was Ipsen. Despite the doll's voice emanating in a high-pitched and eerily shrill manner, the moment it spoke his name, Lowen could feel his unsettling presence.

"Ipsen, don't-"

In the blink of an eye, Lowen's attempt to speak is violently interrupted by an explosive strike to his throat. Dazed and disoriented, his head collides with the unforgiving wall, and before he can comprehend what's happening, the doll, its nubbed porcelain arms moving with an unnatural force, tightens its grip around his throat. The chilling repetition of "play time, play time" echoes through the air as the doll ruthlessly chokes him. Struggling against the seemingly inanimate object, Lowen manages to pry the malevolent doll off, flinging it against the wall with a resounding crash.

Despite the force exerted against it, the doll eerily rises to its feet once more, its wicked smile intact and even more piercing.

"I'm going to burn you alive you little bastard!" Lowen screamed, jumping to his feet.

Of course it had to be Ipsen

"LOWEN!!"
Arya screamed as Ipsen attacked Lowen, ruthlessly hurting him.
She felt powerless and frozen with fear as she watched them fight, Lowen managing to throw the doll, only for the doll to get back up.
The thing was terrifying, but Arya forced herself to get up, and she shakily moved in between them, pointing her knife at Ipsen.
"You want Lowen, you existential crisis? Well you're going to have to go through me," she growled, pushing down the intense fear she was feeling.

Ipsen, in his unnerving doll form, perched on the wall, gazing with glassy eyes that seemed to glint with an otherworldly mischief. "No play time? But friends want to play!" he squealed in a voice that sent shivers down the spine. Ipsen wagged his nubbins tauntingly, the tiny limbs moving in a disconcerting fashion.

Suddenly, a low rumble emanated from the closet, its distinct sound sending a wave of unease through the room. The air thickened with an eerie anticipation, and Ipsen's haunting voice continued to echo, "play time! play time!" The chanting grew in intensity, multiplying as if a legion of sinister whispers joined in.

As the closet door creaked open, the room was plunged into darkness, shadows dancing ominously on the walls. Out poured a horde of dolls, more than twenty, their once-hidden presence now revealed. Their eyes glowed with an unnatural gleam, reflecting a malevolent excitement. The atmosphere became charged with an unsettling energy as the dolls advanced, their haunting chant reaching a crescendo.

"Play time! Play time!" they chanted together.

Lowen, frozen in terror, watched as the dolls surrounded them, their hollow eyes fixed on them with an unsettling hunger for play. He felt his back touch Arya's as they were cornered, and his hand searched for hers. "What do we do?" he whispered frantically.

But it was too late. The dolls were upon them, clawing at their legs and climbing up their bodies.

Arya found her hand being gripped by Lowen's, her back to his. They were trapped.
"What do we do?" She whispered, "We fight back."
And as the dolls began to climb up them, Arya grabbed an old walking stick that had been lying forgotten by the bed. She swung it at the dolls, launching a few of them across the room.
She swore as one malevolently managed to land a hit on her side, and grabbed it by the arm and threw it directly at Ipsen.
"I think I liked you better when you weren't possessing a doll. You're almost cute."

Ipsen was unusually fast as a doll, because of course he was. Why wouldn't he be? Still, the term "cute" certainly struck a chord in him. His beady eyes turned sour, and his wicked smile flipped to an angered flatline.

"Who you calling cute, ya dumb bitch?" Ipsen squeaked from his porcelain lips. The voice was still pitched high, but the dialect was much more in line with the Ipsen they knew. "I'll shove these dolls so far up yer ass that stuffin' will come out yer mouth!"

Reacting swiftly, Ipsen lunged at Arya after his retort. Seizing the opportunity, Lowen stepped in, intercepting him and slamming his porcelain body into the ground, shattering it on the wood floors. As the porcelain broke into pieces, the other dolls—the eerie army—collapsed off of them in a haunting unison.

Lowen found himself on his hands and knees, breathing heavily after the intense ordeal. The weight of the shattered porcelain dolls and the eerie confrontation left him physically drained. Unbeknownst to them, the spirit of Ipsen, like a ghost slipping into the shadows, discreetly re-entered Lowen. It nestled within him, dormant for the time being, as if a subtle echo of the unsettling encounter lingered in the air.

Lowen slumped onto his side, kicking away the now lifeless dolls in the process. "You okay?" he called out breathless to Arya, unsure where she even was at that moment.

Arya was fine, just shaken up, and she knelt down next to Lowen. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder.
"It's just me, it's just me. Im ok, but Ipsen seems to be growing more desperate...and powerful. What do you think he wants?" Arya wished somehow she could meet with Ipsen somewhere and reason with him. Surely there was something Ipsen wanted.
She got up and picked up the pieces of the doll Ipsen once possessed, and carefully set it on the shelf.
"I don't think I should throw it outside..."
She shuddered, and went back to Lowen.
"Are you alright? Is your throat alright?"

"I'm... I'm alright," he attempted to reassure her, but the conviction in his own words wavered. Standing shakily, he massaged his neck with his fingers, tracing the lingering discomfort where that nubbed assailant had choked him.

"He wants me," Lowen finally disclosed after a few quiet moments. "Or rather, he wants someone. You. Me. Anyone. A physical body. Forever."

Letting his hands drop from his throat, he met Arya's gaze. "I can hear him talking about it sometimes," he admitted quietly. "Ever since I became... aware of him. Sometimes I can hear him in my thoughts, my dreams."

Breaking eye contact, his gaze roamed the room, the eerie spectacle of the horde of creepy dolls sprawled across the floor causing him to shudder. "Maybe we should find an inn," he suggested, the idea of a change of surroundings hanging in the air as a potential reprieve from the haunting presence that seemed to cling to them.

Arya quietly gave Lowen a comforting hug.
"If you want to find an inn...that's ok...but the night is almost over anyways...might as well stick it out." She hefted the walking stick in her hand and slightly smiled.
"Ipsen's no match for my trusty walking stick anyways."

Was that a joke? A walking stick? Regardless, Lowen couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at his lips — a smile for her quirkiness. With a delicate touch, he cradled her face in his hands before leaning in for a kiss. "I love you," he murmured, the words flowing effortlessly before he fully grasped their weight.

The admission caught him by surprise. Had he ever said that to her before? The uncertainty lingered. Wasn't it too soon to confess such profound feelings? What if she felt overwhelmed and distanced herself?

Shit bananas, Lowen.

He began to open his mouth, attempting to find words to cover that moment, but quickly snapped it shut. He didn't know what else to say.

Lowen's admission caught her off guard. So much so, that after he kissed her, she froze, unsure if she had heard right.

Love...

Love...was this love?

But then, a smile crept upon her lips.
"I love you too." and she kissed him back.

Arya's confession filled the room with warmth, and Lowen couldn't contain the joy that lit up his face. A wide smile stretched across his features before he drew her into another tender kiss, a silent celebration of their shared emotions. The embrace that followed held a gentle intensity, a moment suspended in time.

As they finally parted, Lowen's gaze scanned the room, the dolls now casting a subtle unease upon him. "We can rough it here tonight," he agreed, his tone less than confident. "But I'm putting these little bastards back in the closet where they belong."

Arya embraced Lowen for what felt like forever. She didn't want to let go. But, finally, she did. She leaned back and exhaled, her eyes scanning the room.
"I'll help you put them up."
She got up and helped him put the dolls in the closet, using the walking stick she had found to barricade the door.
"Hopefully now we can sleep," she said, carefully getting back into bed.
Her mind went over the events of the day.
She had almost died in the river, and then Lowen had saved her.
Lowen admitted his feelings for her, and she did the same. She smiled at the still recent memory, remembering the way his face lit up.
And then her smile faded as she remembered what Lowen had explained, that Ipsen had taken control of her. She was glad she had Lowen with her now.
And with that thought lingering in her mind, she settled into bed.

Despite the haunting events of the day, the horrors they faced, and the lingering presence of the dolls, Lowen found solace and warmth in the bed next to Arya. Cradling her in his arms, he felt a sense of comfort as he began drifting into a peaceful sleep. Remarkably, for the first time in a while, Ipsen remained silent, allowing a rare respite from the unsettling nighttime conversations that typically accompanied Lowen's slumber.

But why?

Arya felt safe in Lowen's arms, and as a result, fell asleep quite fast, despite the unsettling fact that possessed dolls had just attacked them not an hour ago.

But her sleep would not be peaceful.

If Arya could have tossed and turned, she would have, but the sleep was the kind where you're sleeping so hard you don't move. But you dream.

Dreams...

Is it a dream?

Was this day a dream?

I'll dream...

...Ðřėæmß ķïłł...

Blackness...A figure in the distance...blacker than the dark surrounding it...

As the first rays of dawn spilled through the cracked windows of the abandoned cabin, Lowen stirred awake. The soft hues of sunrise cast a warm glow that momentarily dispelled the eerie atmosphere, revealing the cabin in a more forgiving light. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he sat up, the creaking floorboards underlining the solitude of their temporary refuge.

A subtle realization dawned on him, and Lowen muttered to himself, "Oh right, we're on the run." The weight of their circumstances returned as he took in the surroundings – the worn furniture, the dusty remnants of a forgotten past, and the subtle presence of the dolls lurking in the corners.

His attention shifted to Arya, still asleep beside him. Gently stroking her hair, he marveled at the contrast between the haunting atmosphere of the cabin and the tranquility that seemed to emanate from her. The sunrise continued to paint the room with a soft glow, creating a brief illusion of normalcy amidst the chaos they were fleeing.

The figure drew near...

Arya sat up out of bed...except there was no bed. Just the cold, hard ground. Breathing heavily, her eyes darted around...wherever she was. She wasn't sure actually.
It was pitch black all around her, except for the shadowed figure in front of her. The figure seemed to absorb all light. It was a bringer of darkness.

...Ðřëæmß ķǐłł...

The figure wordlessly reached out and put a spectral hand on Arya's shoulder. The touch of the hand sent a harsh, frigid chill through Arya's body.
Arya was frozen in place, physically and mentally.
"Ğįvę ÿøuř ßøůł...œř Ï ŵıłł ťþæķę įť...."

There was a hand on her head...
Arya woke up and sat upright quickly, her heart rate accelerated, her breathing fast.
She looked around the cabin. Is she awake?

Ðřëæmß ķǐłł

There was the remains of the doll that Ipsen had possessed on the shelf...the closet doors were still closed...Lowen was beside her.

You'rë nøt ßæfé...[/b]

She got out of bed and half walked half stumbled to the cabin door, shakily fumbling with the door knob and running outside.

A misty fog covered everything, giving the forest an eerie shape.
She ran until she couldn't run anymore and her legs gave out, her collapsing and slamming into a tree trunk.
She couldn't breathe...couldn't think...

Ðřëæmß ķǐłł

"Arya?"

...Arya?

"Arya?!"

Lowen's heart raced, watching Arya rise from her slumber in a half-sleep, her eyes wide with terror. In a disoriented state, she stumbled, her movements reflecting an unsettling distress. Lowen, caught in the unsettling intensity of the moment, couldn't comprehend the agony that gripped her.

Without a second thought, he surged after her as she darted into the dense woods. His calls to her, filled with concern and confusion, echoed through the fog and the silent trees. "Arya, wait! What's happening?" he implored, his voice cutting through the leaves. The dense shadows of the leaves played tricks on the forest floor as he pursued her, the tangled branches clawing at his skin.

As he closed the distance, the urgency in his pleas heightened. "Arya, please! Talk to me!" Each step through the wilderness felt like an eternity, the intensity of the moment painted with the vivid strokes of fear and concern. The rising sun danced on their path, revealing the desperation in Lowen's eyes as he tried to reach through the veil of her disoriented state.

And then she ran full-force into a trunk, collapsing.

"ARYA!"

When Arya slammed into the tree trunk and collapsed to the ground, her fear had ratcheted up to 100.

Everything hurt.

She couldn't move.

Her head was screaming in pain.

All she could think about was that figure in her dream.

Through the panic and the fear, she could hear someone yelling her name...
Arya just lay where she had fallen.
The wind had gotten knocked out of her when she hit the tree trunk, and she tried to get her breath back, gasping for air.
"Don't—-don't come closer!" She yelled in straight terror, her body shaking. Her mind was so clouded with fear she couldn't recognize Lowen.

In the dim light, Lowen stood before Arya, a concerned expression etched on his face as he tried to calm her racing heart. "Arya, it's me!" he pleaded, his voice gentle yet urgent. However, her eyes seemingly betrayed a different reality. Was she seeing.. Ipsen?

"Arya, it's me..." Lowen continued to reassure, but Ipsen's whispered voice slipped into the shadows, adopting a menacing tone that echoed through her mind.

"Arya, it's me..." Ipsen echoed.

Ipsen's true form emerged from the shadows - only visible to Arya, a haunting silhouette veiled in darkness. His eyes, void of any trace of humanity, gleamed with an abyssal blackness, devoid of emotion or mercy. A demonic aura surrounded him, and the otherworldly essence radiating from his figure sent shivers down the spine. The darkness seemed to cling to his form, obscuring the details of his features, leaving only the unsettling impression of a malevolent presence that transcended the mortal realm.

She was starting to hyperventilate.
"It was just a dream," she tried to tell herself.
She could hear Lowen's voice...but then it morphed into Ipsen's.
And then the very figure from her dream stepped into view.
The throbbing headache that Arya had right now told her that this was, in fact, not a dream. This was real.

Somehow, she weakly pushed herself to her feet.
"What do you want?!" She cried in anguish.
She decided to try a desperate, foolish idea.
"Listen...you can have me. I won't even fight. I'll kill for you. But in exchange," and she took a deep breath to steady herself, "I want you to leave Lowen alone."

In the heart of the dense woods, daylight struggled to penetrate the thick canopy overhead. The tangled branches cast elongated shadows on the forest floor as Lowen, amidst the ancient trees, witnessed Arya's abrupt descent into a nightmarish realm. Her once vibrant eyes now reflected a distant terror, mirroring the unsettling atmosphere that permeated the wooded expanse.

As Lowen desperately tried to reach her, his voice became a fragile echo amid the rustling leaves and eerie creaks of the trees. "Arya, it's me, It's Lowen!" Yet, his words seemed to dissipate into the gray ambience, drowned out by the haunting echoes of a malevolent presence.

The air grew heavy with an ominous energy, and Arya, caught in the throes of her delusion, only heard Ipsen with chilling certainty. "Arya, it's me, it's Ipsen," he whispered viciously. Lowen's attempts to reassure her were futile, as the spectral apparition seemed to have ensnared her senses in its shadowy grip.

Arya, her eyes wild with fear, offered herself in a desperate plea for the entity to spare Lowen, sending a cold shiver down his spine. "Are you seeing Ipsen?" he implored, his frantic words barely audible over the murmur of the wind. "Do NOT make a deal with him!"

In the muted daylight, Ipsen, invisible to Lowen, finally revealed himself in full to Arya in all his malevolent glory.

Ipsen emerged from the shadows with a chilling presence, his physical form a grotesque amalgamation of demonic features. His obsidian eyes, unusually large and consuming, were like twin voids that absorbed the surrounding light, devoid of any trace of humanity. They seemed to pierce through the fabric of reality itself, reflecting an eternal emptiness.

His skin, almost translucently pale, bore a ghostly pallor that set him apart from the living. Clear veins ran like rivers across the canvas of his face, giving an otherworldly transparency to his unnaturally cold and lifeless complexion. The veins, pulsating subtly beneath his ethereal skin, accentuated the spectral nature of his existence.

Markings resembling tribal tattoos etched a sinister narrative along the contours of Ipsen's neck and the side of his face. Dark lines coiled and twisted, weaving an intricate pattern that seemed to pulse with malevolent energy. The arcane symbols hinted at a dark origin, evoking a sense of ancient malevolence that clung to him like a curse.

His expression, frozen in an eternal grimace, twisted unnaturally into a grin that conveyed a sinister delight. Ipsen's face bore the weight of an unending torment, the malevolence etched into every line and curve. The juxtaposition of his cold, dead eyes and the macabre grin formed a visage that inspired both terror and fascination, an embodiment of the sinister forces that lurked within the shadows.

"Take my hand!"

"Take my hand..."

In that moment, both Lowen and Ipsen reached out for her, their intentions wildly different.

Arya actually saw Lowen. And then Ipsen, separate from Lowen.
"If I take your hand...will he be safe?" Arya whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"That's all I want...promise me he'll be safe..."

She turned to Lowen.
"I'll always love you," she whispered.

And then she took Ipsen's hand.

As Arya reached out and took Ipsen's hand instead of Lowen's, a cascade of surreal events unfolded around them. The once serene woods transformed into a nightmarish scene, with the skies taking on an unsettling blend of grey and red. The air vibrated with an intense humming sound that seemed to penetrate through the very fabric of reality.

For Lowen, the experience was agonizing. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he watched Arya confess her love, only to choose Ipsen's hand. The sense of helplessness and powerlessness overwhelmed him. As Ipsen dissipated from her view, enveloping Arya in an unseen connection, Lowen felt a release for the dormant demon within him, amplifying the chaos in the surroundings. He was gone from him.

Arya, oblivious to the turmoil in Lowen's world, was now connected to Ipsen. The humming sound grew louder, and the skies seemed to close in, casting an eerie glow over the scene. Ipsen's influence was palpable, though its immediate impact on Arya remained unclear. He may choose not to act right away, only emerging when he wants like he did with Lowen, or perhaps this was a part of his plan all along - another step closer to taking on a permanent physical form once more.

Meanwhile, Lowen succumbed to an overwhelming lightheadedness, collapsing to the ground. His consciousness faded, and when he finally stirred, confusion clouded his gaze as he looked at Arya with a sense of fear. The memory of their shared moments erased from his mind, he uttered in a strained voice, "Who are you?" The connection that once bound them now shattered, leaving Arya to face an altered reality alongside the consequences of her choice.

Lowen's memory of her was no more.

Arya was in the worst pain of her life as Ipsen moved into her. It was a pain that transcended emotion and senses, overwhelming her to the point where she could only cry out in agony, the only consolation being that Lowen would be safe. The skies seemed to close in. Reds and grays intertwined, mirroring the turmoil in Arya's soul.
Finally, the pain stopped. The skies went back to normal.
Arya's face was stained with tears.
She could see Lowen. She remembered everything vividly. Painfully so.
She reached out for Lowen...but he didn't recognize her.
She stopped short.
Did he forget? Was he angry? Was he angry at her?
"You don't remember...anything?" Arya whispered.
Maybe it was better this way. Maybe this was how it needed to be done. To protect those she loved. To isolate.
It was better this way.

Lowen's gaze lingered on unknown woman with a quizzical expression, a furrow forming on his forehead as he processed her question. "You don't remember anything?" she asked. He tilted his head in surprise, his mind attempting to sift through the haze of forgotten moments. What could he have possibly forgotten? Was there a shared experience with the woman that had slipped through the crevices of his memory? As he stood up, brushing off imaginary dust from his clothes, an apologetic smile played on his lips.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he offered, the polite drawl emphasizing his sincerity. "I think you might have me mistaken for someone else. Is there something I can help you with?" His hazel eyes met hers, searching for any flicker of recognition. Despite being accustomed to occasional blackouts and time lapses, there was an underlying awkwardness in the air. A sense that he should know something, a memory lingering just beyond reach. He swallowed these unresolved feelings, unsure of how to navigate this puzzling encounter.

She studied his face. He really didn't remember.
Her heart, already in pain, shattered completely.
"No, there's nothing," she whispered, slowly backing away.
"I just...mistook you for someone else. I'm sorry to bother you."
Her eyes full of pain and heartbreak, blinked away a few tears.
She shakily wiped them away, and excusing herself, disappeared into the trees.

Lowen, his expression marked with perplexity, watched the woman walk away. Shaking off the confusion, he glanced around, attempting to orient himself and figure out his location. With a slight shrug, he decided to trust his instincts and started walking in what seemed to be the direction leading closer to town.

---

"Boo hoo," Ipsen taunted with delight. "Poor L-L-Lowen!"

Ipsen, the malevolent entity visible now only to Arya, observed in tandem as she left Lowen behind. He wasn't exactly walking, nor was he floating; it was a peculiar, indefinable movement that defied easy description. His sinister presence loomed over Arya - relishing in the scene that had unfolded. "Come on, get a'hold of yourself!" he commanded, placing a cold hand on her shoulder and gripping it with an uncomfortable intensity. "You got me now, toots."

Arya shivered at the cold contact, and scowled at him.
Ipsen's true form was unnerving, to say the least.
"Don't touch me!" She warned.
"It's already unbearable having to listen to you."
At Ipsen's new nickname for her, she stopped walking completely.
"Yeah...I'll get you in the throat with a knife."
She then realized that, unfortunately, she didn't have a knife on her. Or any weapon for that matter.
Great.

The shadows cast by the dense woods seemed to dance with an eerie rhythm as Ipsen, the malevolent entity only visible to Arya, beckoned her into a deeper conversation. His voice echoed sinister intent as he spoke, a maleficent symphony that intertwined with the rustling leaves and creaking branches.

"Ah, Arya," Ipsen crooned, his words dripping with a sinister charm, "aren't you just dying to unravel the mysteries of my existence? The enigma that I am, the shadows that cling to my form like loyal servants. I know you harbor that insatiable curiosity deep within. It's only natural for a creature of your kind."

His presence, though unseen by any but Arya, emanated a chilling aura that sent shivers down her spine. Ipsen reveled in the unease he instilled, his features concealed in the shadows, leaving only the piercing glint of his black eyes visible.

"You see, Arya," Ipsen continued, his tone teasing and malefic, "I am the embodiment of the darkness that resides within the human soul. The lingering fears, the unspoken desires, the wicked thoughts that fester in the depths of consciousness – they all give birth to entities like me."

As he spoke, the shadows seemed to coalesce around him, forming phantom shapes that danced and twisted with a malevolent grace. Ipsen's voice grew more intimate, almost whispering into Arya's mind, planting seeds of doubt and fear.

"Have you never wondered why your nightmares take shape, why the darkest corners of your imagination conjure up horrors? I am the manifestation of those fears, Arya. I exist because humanity craves the thrill of the unknown, the dance with the forbidden. The more you fear, the stronger I become."

Which may or may not have been complete bullshit. Ipsen was one for mind games, so one could never really tell.

Arya gasped as Ipsen seemed to disappear altogether, only to materialize all around her...or was he? It was hard to tell. One thing she was sure of, was that whatever he is, he's feeding off of fear. He wasn't wrong. She was curious, which was partly how she got entangled in Ipsen's dangerous web in the first place.
Arya decided to play along with his dangerous game for now. She had nothing to lose. She had already lost the one that had mattered to her, Lowen. Would she ever see him again? Would he ever remember her?

"Fine then...tell me all about yourself...although you've practically already explained how you work."
She warily looked around. Ipsen was so unpredictable.
"So what...you're an incubus...? That feeds off of fear?"

Ipsen materialized in front of Arya. His figure emerged from the darkness with an unsettling grace, a wicked grin etched upon his otherworldly features. The air became thick with an ominous energy as he regarded Arya with a gaze that hinted at the malevolence lurking within.

"Ah, Arya," Ipsen intoned with a chilling lilt, "perhaps I was once a man, with beating hearts and fragile dreams, just like the ones that reside within your fragile mortal frame. Maybe I roamed these lands with aspirations and desires, my footsteps echoing in the vastness of time."

He circled Arya slowly, the shadows trailing in his wake like ethereal tendrils. Ipsen's form seemed to flicker between human and demonic.

"Or perhaps," he continued, his voice a sinister whisper, "I was Lowen. Perhaps, there was never a Lowen. Perhaps you fell in love with someone that did not exist."

Ipsen's words held a tantalizing ambiguity, each sentence a riddle with countless interpretations. His wicked grin widened as he reveled in the torment of uncertainty that played across Arya's expression.

"Can you not feel the echoes of my existence reverberating within you?" Ipsen mused, his tone dripping with malevolence. "The whispers of forgotten memories, the faintest traces of a past long extinguished. Maybe I am a figment of your own imagination, a creation woven from the threads of your deepest fears. Do you even remember a time before us?"

As he spoke, Ipsen's form continued to shift and warp, casting grotesque shadows upon the surrounding foliage.

Arya had unconsciously backed up until her back had hit a tree. Ipsen seemed to be growing stronger.
Arya defiantly glared at Ipsen.
"There was a Lowen. There is a Lowen! I will never forget him, and no matter what you do, my memories of him will NEVER fade! Why? Because—-because love is stronger than fear. And my love for him, even though you made him forget me, will not fade. Ever. Even if you kill me." And she stared at him, right in his emotionless, empty eyes, daring him to try.

Arya stood there, her eyes locked with Ipsen's, a clear hate etched on her face. It made Ipsen quite thrilled to see. His words cut through the air with a sinister satisfaction, each syllable laced with malice.

"No, Arya. You made him forget you. You chose me, not him," Ipsen taunted, his voice echoing in the space between them. "You decided to walk away, not him. And you now have me, not him."

The weight of Ipsen's words bore down on Arya. She may have never intended for Lowen to lose everything, but the gravity was in the consequences the actions Ipsen so lovingly orchestrated.

"When you took me from him, you took away everything he had ever known, learned, and loved, in that time," Ipsen continued, reveling in the torment his words inflicted. "Now he's just a pathetic, ordinary man with nothing to live for."

And then a wicked smile. "With a price on his head, no doubt."

"So you admit it then," Arya shot back, rather smugly, even.
"He did love me. He most certainly didn't love you."

She was using the hate she was feeling to push down the fear. A rather effective tactic, actually.
"You know, maybe you aren't real. That would explain a lot actually. Prove you're real," she challenged, and then lunged for him.

In an instant, he shot out an arm.

Ipsen's grip tightened around Arya's throat, his fingers pressing into the delicate skin. The sudden shift from his calm demeanor to a visage of rage was very visible. Her feet dangled above the ground as Ipsen held her effortlessly, his strength overpowering - something unexpected from the little Arya and Lowen had known about him prior. The world around them seemed to blur as he forced her to gasp for air.

The remnants of blood on Ipsen's hands hinted at the violence that unfolded, the darkness within him manifesting in this chilling moment as he held her with a vice-like grip.

Ipsen's face remained stoic, his black eyes piercing into Arya's with an intensity that mirrored the abyss, blood seeping out the corners of his eyes. The rage within him simmered, an unsettling contrast to the tranquil surroundings. It was a snapshot frozen in time, capturing the brutality of Ipsen's wrath.

"Real enough?" he asked, licking his teeth.

Suddenly, Arya couldn't breathe. Ipsen had her in a dangerous chokehold, one hand painfully choking her neck, her feet off the ground. That was gonna leave a bruise. A tinge of panic sprung up in her heart. Had she pushed him too far? Was this it?
Black spots swam in her vision. She kicked her feet desperately, weaker than she was just moments ago.
There was no humanity at all in his eyes. Pure evil. And now she was at his mercy.
She desperately gasped for air, weakly pulling at the hand that had an iron grip around her neck.
"N-no," she managed to get out in between gasps.

With gritted teeth, Ipsen callously threw her down into the unforgiving dirt. His sinister smirk conveyed a sense of superiority, as if he viewed her weakness as nothing more than an amusement. His taunting words echoed in the air, a chilling reminder of her vulnerability. "I won't kill you yet, lover," he sneered, relishing in the power he held over her. "I still need you. Now, on your feet. We have work to do."

---

As Lowen moved through the dense woods, his footsteps crunching on the fallen leaves, his thoughts remained tangled in a web of confusion. The memory of that woman lingered in his mind, a puzzle piece that refused to fit into place. Why was he fixated on someone he didn't know?

The ominous whispers of the rustling leaves seemed to taunt him, echoing his internal struggle. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something crucial, something he desperately needed to remember about her. The more he tried to grasp the elusive memory, the more it slipped through his fingers, leaving him with a frustrating sense of incompleteness.

The forest path eventually opened up, revealing the outskirts of the town. Lowen could see the structures ahead, a welcome sight after the disorienting trek through the woods. Yet, the unresolved mystery of the woman's significance gnawed at him, urging him to unravel the enigma that clung to her presence.

"Ah.. Ah.. Arya?"

Arya had had the wind knocked out of her before, but it was so much worse when there wasn't any air in your lungs in the first place. Ipsen threw her down hard, and the pain exploded across her back and her lungs. It took her a minute  to gain any semblance of normal breathing back, and she gingerly got up, rubbing her bruised neck where Ipsen had choked her.
"Just...give me a second..."
She warily eyed him, breathing heavily.
"What are you planning on doing? I at least deserve to know that, if I'm participating in it."

Arya? Arabelle? Ariel? Amaya? Adrianna? Ashley? Aveena?

"Was it Arya?" Lowen murmured to himself, absently scratching his chin. "..Did she even tell me her name?"

Before Lowen could take any decisive actions, the air was pierced by a stern command, "Halt!" Startled, he pivoted around to find himself encircled by a group of guards, their armor glinting in the dappled sunlight filtering through the dense foliage. His heart raced as the realization set in that he was being cornered, facing an unknown threat. With a mix of confusion and trepidation, he hastily raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, even though the reason for his predicament remained a mystery.

---

Ipsen's sinister presence lingered, his black eyes gleaming with a malevolent glow as he divulged his plan to Arya. "Ya see, lover, to fully manifest in this realm, I require a physical body. And you, my dear sweet Arya, are going to help me obtain one," he hissed, a wicked grin distorting his otherwise impassive features.

A pregnant pause hung in the air before Ipsen continued, "But first, let's pay a visit to the town. They ought to be stringing Lowen up right about now, and I plan on being in attendance."

As much as she hated it, she had agreed to helping him...but the last thing Ipsen had gleefully said was too much.
"Stringing up Lowen...no...no...NO!"
The gap in her memory...Lowen had said Ipsen had possessed her...he must have possessed Lowen before that...something to put a huge target on innocent Lowen's back.
And she bolted, running for the direction of the town. She didn't care if Lowen didn't recognize her or remember her anymore, he was still innocent.

In the heart of the town square, a hushed anticipation settled over the crowd as Lowen dangled precariously from the gallows, one step away from demise. The rusty chains creaked under the weight of his body, the ominous swaying casting eerie shadows on the wooden platform below. The cold wind carried the scent of anxious spectators, their murmurs a cacophony of judgment.

The executioner stepped forward, his face hidden beneath a hood, amplifying the ominous atmosphere. "Citizens of Connlaoth, behold the criminal before you!" he bellowed, voice echoing through the square. "This man stands accused of murder, conspiracy, and forbidden arts!" Gasps rippled through the crowd, a mix of disbelief and contempt.

Lowen's eyes darted nervously, scanning the faces that once held mere curiosity but now brimmed with disdain. The executioner's gravelly voice continued to detail the alleged crimes, each word sending shivers down Lowen's spine. He struggled against the bindings, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

As the list of accusations reached its crescendo, the executioner raised his hand for silence. The town square became eerily quiet, the air thick with tension. Lowen's panicked breaths were the only audible sounds, a stark contrast to the stifling hush that had fallen over the crowd.

The executioner's final words reverberated, "May this be a lesson to all who dare defy the Order! Let justice be served!" The crowd erupted into a mixture of jeers and cheers as the executioner prepared the lever.

"I-I didn't do anything!" Lowen cried, which resulted in more boos from the crowd.

"Silence!" the executioner snapped. "This is not a court of law, where one may negotiate or plead! This is a sentence!"

And as Arya got their to witness the scene, before she could make any moves, Ipsen put a devilish hand on her, the weight of his touch somehow binding her feet to the ground.

Arya ran as fast as she could, desperately hoping she could do something. She had no idea what she was going to do when she got there, but she could try.
"Please no please no please no!"

Finally she got to the town square. But before she could do anything, a familiar, malicious presence formed, one hand touching her.
She couldn't move, her feet frozen to the floor.
"Ipsen! What the fuck is wrong with you! He's innocent! He's done nothing! Please dont let him die!"
Arya was desperate. Dangerously desperate.
"I'll do anything...just let him live! Please!"

Ipsen's sinister smile deepened as he gracefully waved his hand. A surreal stillness settled over the scene, freezing everyone and everything in a momentary pause. The air hung heavy with silence as the crowd stood in eerie immobility, their expressions and gestures suspended in time.

In this surreal pocket of halted reality, Ipsen and Arya stood unaffected, the only entities free from the temporal freeze. Ipsen's eyes gleamed with malevolence as he turned to face Arya, the quiet intensity of the scene amplifying the gravity of their situation. "Anything?" he repeated, his voice cutting through the hushed stillness, and he released his grip on Arya's shoulder.

"Anything!" She pleaded, her eyes full of the fear she was feeling for Lowen's fate.
She still couldn't move. Ipsen seemed to have stopped time.
Arya felt as if she was going to pass out. She turned away from where Lowen was about to be executed.

Ipsen's breath was one of delight as he conjured a knife out of thin air. The blade gleamed malevolently, catching the dim light of the eerie scene. Ipsen took her hand with authority and deftly carved a ritualistic symbol into her palm, each stroke of the blade etching an otherworldly pattern. The cold steel kissed her skin, sending shivers through her.

Ipsen mirrored the process, carving the same symbol into his own palm, crimson droplets marking the pact. The air thickened with an ominous energy as their bleeding hands were pressed together. An ethereal glow enveloped them, casting an eerie hue on their entwined figures.

"And now, you belong to me," Ipsen declared, his voice a sinister whisper that echoed through the surreal space. The weight of his words settled like a dark omen. His gaze flickered to Lowen, still frozen in his impending fate, and another wicked gleam curled into his lips.

"Oh, and if you want to save Lowen, you better run fast." Ipsen's mocking tone resonated, and with a wave of his hand, time resumed its course. The crowd erupted into chaotic cheers and jeers, the lever was pulled, and the sound of Lowen's neck snapping was accompanied by an audible gasp from the onlookers.

What was she thinking?

What was she doing?

Making a deal with a malicious entity?

Was she insane? Or just in love? Probably a mix of both honestly

She gasped in pain as Ipsen grabbed her hand and carved...something into her hand. It burnt and was cold all at the same time. A kind of frigid, burning pain.

He did the same to his hand, before pressing them together.
An intense wave of cold washed over her, hitting her like a wall.
What did he say? She belonged to him?
Oh gods no.
And then time resumed.
But what did he say? His sentence barely registered in her brain, Arya desperately whirling around only just to see Lowen drop.
There was a gasp from a crowd.
A snap as the rope cruelly tightened around his neck, his limp body swinging from the rope.
Arya couldn't believe it.
An agonized, heart shattering scream erupted from her.
"LOWEN NOOO!"
She snatched the knife from Ipsen before he could react.
She ran. She was just a blur. The crowd just kindof parted for her and she leaped onto the stage, cutting down Lowen's body and tightly grasping it, lowering it to the floor and crying into his cold chest.
"Lowen I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!
Don't go. Not like this! Not like this," she whispered brokenly.
Her body was racked with harsh sobs.
She felt like she couldn't breathe.
 

Ipsen observed Arya from the shadows, his expression unreadable as she desperately tried to save the person she believed to be Lowen. The deception weighed heavy on him, knowing that every tear she shed was based on a falsehood he had orchestrated. As Arya clung to the imposter, Ipsen contemplated the consequences of his intricate plan and the emotional turmoil it would unleash upon her.

And he relished it.

Ispen's deception magic proved formidable, intricately woven to withstand scrutiny for an extended period. The illusion of Lowen's demise played out seamlessly, manipulating Arya's emotions to perfection. He understood that the torment within her soul was a necessary catalyst for the unfolding events. With each passing day, the charade would deepen, and the weight of false grief would bear down on Arya's shoulders. Ipsen would patiently watch as the emotional anguish fueled her determination, unknowingly contributing to the success of his elaborate scheme. The longer she believed in Lowen's tragic fate, the more potent the enchantment became, setting the stage for the intricate dance of destiny he had orchestrated.

——

Lowen cautiously approached Arya's house, an air of uncertainty hanging over him. Evading the law had led him to this unfamiliar doorstep, and a strange compulsion drew him inside. The door yielded to a twist of the knob, revealing an unlocked entrance. With trepidation in his heart, he stepped into the dimly lit interior, the creaking floorboards beneath his feet echoing in the silent space. The house seemed frozen in time, shrouded in an eerie stillness. Lowen's senses heightened as he explored, unaware of the emotional storm brewing within Arya due to Ipsen's deception.

Why had he come here? Whose house was it? He felt like there was something he was missing, something that he was mere inches away from uncovering.

She desperately checked for a pulse but there was none. She cried until she couldn't cry anymore.
Now what was she supposed to do? Go home. Maybe tomorrow she'll go to the bounty hunter guild. Sink back into the slight routine she had before she met Lowen.

Arya lost a bit of herself that day.
She would hardly eat. The nightmares began the next night, Lowen dying in worse and worse ways and Arya being forced to watch every single one. She grew gaunt and pale, her eyes now seemingly looking for something.
A week passed.
Grief had settled on her fully, weighing her down like a burden specifically meant for her.

Arya wondered what Ipsen was planning to do. Not that it mattered anymore. With Lowen gone...why resist? She studied the symbol he had carved into her hand. It looked evil.
The slight constant burning pain she had in her hand was like the slight nagging at the back of her mind that Ipsen had worse plans. 

Arya had just gotten home from the bounty hunters guild, and as she walked up to the door, she noticed it was cracked open. Funny. She had definitely closed it.
She drew her knife and cautiously pushed open the door.

Then she saw what she presumed to be Ipsen, standing with his back turned to her.
"Ipsen?" She questioned.

Lowen had found himself inexplicably drawn to the house, spending nearly a week there without fully understanding why. The rooms, once covered in layers of dust, now bore his mark – meticulously tidied, the aroma of fresh coffee wafting through the air, and a sense of belonging settling in every corner. The days passed with an eerie slowness, lulling him into a false sense of ownership. It became his refuge, and he embraced the notion that it might truly be his home.

However, reality shattered his illusion when the door swung open, and a voice echoed through the hallway, calling out "Ipsen!" Lowen turned, heart pounding, only to be met with the woman he had encountered before. The surprise on her face mirrored his own shock. In that moment, the realization dawned – he had essentially been trespassing, and the house was not, in fact, his own. The weight of his intrusion hung in the air, and as their eyes met, Lowen's heart raced for an entirely different reason – the unexpected presence of the woman who had unwittingly disrupted the bubble of solitude he had carefully crafted.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lowen, the authentic Lowen, said. "I, um..."

Arya stopped short when he turned around, revealing "Ipsen" to not be "Ipsen".

Arya's eyes had a sort of grief settled in them, the kind that might never go away.

Her gaze traveled to his hand to check if it was Ipsen. If he was playing another prank she was gonna kill him. But his hand was normal and unmarked.

"Lowen?" She asked in disbelief.
"I watched—-I watched you die!"
Her eyes grew wide and she gasped, a hand going to her mouth.


She desperately wanted to hug him.
But she wasn't sure if he recognized her, so she stood there, a million things running through her mind, subconsciously hiding the hand that Ipsen had marked.

Lowen watched Arya with a puzzled expression as she navigated the chaotic scene around them. The absence of expected hostility left him momentarily disoriented. She didn't lash out at him for trespassing, nor did she attempt to force him out of what he now recognized as her home. Instead, she just stood there, as she were seeing a ghost.

As the name "Arya" echoed in his mind, the pieces began to click into place. Recognition dawned, and his gaze lingered on her with newfound understanding. The air hung heavy with unspoken revelations, and in that charged moment, he studied Arya with a mix of curiosity and realization. It was a peculiar dance of revelation and comprehension, set against the backdrop of the unfolding turmoil in her once quiet home.

"Died?" he asked cautiously. Was he dead? He didn't think so. Had she mistaken him for someone else? "Is your name.. Arya?"

So he remembered her name at least...
"Yes...my name is Arya...but you shouldn't be here," Arya anxiously said, her eyes constantly looking for Ipsen. She did not want to entangle poor Lowen in any more of Ipsen's schemes.
She shook her head.
"You've got to leave. I'm sorry. I-I thought you were someone else."
Her eyes were so sad.
This wasn't how this was supposed to happen.
This wasn't how any of this was supposed to happen.
She shakily took a step backwards.
"Get out. Get out, before—-before he gets back."

Lowen braced himself for the inevitable, expecting to be dismissed from the woman's home. His face flushed with embarrassment, he mumbled, "Right, sorry," as he began to walk past her. However, his steps halted abruptly when his eyes caught sight of a peculiar carving on her palm. Intrigued and compelled by an unknown force, he couldn't resist reaching out to get a closer look.

"What is this? Did it hurt?" he asked, his fingers gently lifting her hand. Before he could fully comprehend his actions, he placed his own hand on the carving. In that moment, an agonizing scream tore through the air, escaping from Lowen's lips as if he'd been struck by a jolt of electricity. Actual smoke sizzled from their unexpected connection, leaving him with weak knees that slowly buckled beneath him until he found himself on the floor. The mysterious symbol on her palm held a power that both fascinated and overwhelmed him, leaving Lowen in a state of shock, confusion, and then....

He started to remember.

"Lowen!" And she knelt down beside him, anxiously checking him over.


"Uhm...the carving...Ipsen did that...it didn't hurt terribly..."
She sighed, sitting down on the ground beside Lowen.
"There's so much to explain...before you lost your memory...I-" God, it hurt to say it, it was like taunting herself with something she would never have.
"I...I had loved you before. And, you had loved me," she said softly.
"But...I fucked things up...trying to protect you. And I just made everything so much worse. So you have every right to hate me," she said quietly, looking down at the ground.

As Lowen lay on the ground, a surge of memories flooded his mind like a blazing comet. Everything about Arya—how they met, the moments they shared, and the love they had for each other—unfolded in a vivid flash of energy. Arya's words became background noise as he absorbed these revelations.

When Lowen's eyes met Arya's, the clarity of recognition sparked within them. "Arya!" he exclaimed urgently, a newfound understanding shining in his gaze. Without hesitation, he pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss, as if trying to make up for the lost time spent apart.

Unbeknownst to them, in a dark corner of the house, Ipsen observed with a sinister satisfaction on his face. His devious plans seemed to be falling into place.

Arya couldn't help herself. She knew Lowen recognized her when he pulled her down for a kiss.
She hugged him as hard as she could, and kissed him back, deepening the kiss.
She couldn't say anything even if she wanted to, overcome with emotion, overwhelmed with emotion.
And she cried as she kissed him, a mixture of happiness and relief.

In the quiet moment of revelation, Lowen's heart surged with a mix of emotions. As he held Arya closer, the world around them seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them in a timeless embrace. He felt a profound connection to her, a flood of memories rushing back.

Tears welled up in Lowen's eyes as he looked into Arya's eyes, a mixture of joy, regret, and love lingering in his gaze. With a trembling breath, he pressed a gentle yet passionate kiss on Arya's lips, as if trying to bridge the gap between the past and the present.

"Arya, my Arya," he whispered, his voice laden with the weight of realization. "How could I forget you?" The words escaped him, filled with both aching regret for the lost time and a newfound appreciation for the depth of their connection.

*clap*

*clap*

*clap*

In the dim corner of the room, Ipsen watched the heartfelt scene unfold with a sinister satisfaction, his slow clap echoing in the air. A malevolent smile graced his lips as he stepped forward, relishing the emotions that played out before him.

"Oh, Lowen. How sweet," Ipsen drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. "Ain'tcha a bit too old to be crying though?" His words cut through the tender moment like a blade, casting a dark shadow over the reunion.

Lowen's eyes narrowed with quiet rage as he swiftly positioned himself protectively in front of Arya. "What the hells do you want, you bastard?" he seethed, his tone a dangerous growl that hinted at the depth of his loathing for Ipsen.

"Lowen I missed you so much!"
She clung to him tightly, breathing in his scent, meeting his lips again for a kiss.
"You...you didn't forget me on purpose. It was my fault. I-I made a deal with Ipsen...I'm not even sure what it entails. I don't even know where Ipsen is right now...hopefully gone."
But then a slow clap sounded throughout the room and Arya stiffened, knowing what the source of that sound was.
Lowen moved in front of her and Arya drew her sword.
She had had enough. With an enraged cry she ran at Ipsen.

Ipsen smirked. "Party Pooper," he said before his eyes flashed red.

Unbeknownst to Arya, Ipsen's voice echoed directly into Lowen's mind, a sinister command that reverberated through the depths of his consciousness. "Stop, Arya," Ipsen commanded, and in an instant, Lowen's eyes transformed into an abyss of black, devoid of any life or emotion.

In a swift and eerily coordinated movement, Lowen became a puppet under Ipsen's control, tackling Arya forcefully from behind. The impact sent them both crashing onto the ground, Arya caught off guard by the unexpected assault. Ipsen's eyes flashed a malevolent shade of red, a manifestation of the dark control he wielded over Lowen in that moment.

Ipsen, his eyes returning to their normal state, surveyed the scene with a wicked satisfaction. As the command released its hold, Lowen's confusion replaced the lifeless puppet he had become, leaving both Arya and Lowen in a state of disarray, caught in the web of Ipsen's dark influence. "W-w-what happened?!" Lowen cried, quickly shuffling off of Arya. "That was not me!"

Ipsen's eyes flashed red again, this time speaking directly into Arya's mind. "Cut Lowen's leg with your sword."

Arya swore as someone tackled her from behind.
She got slammed into the ground, and the wind got knocked out of her, Arya gasping for breath.
"What the hell?!" She yelled as soon as she could speak again, and pushed Lowen off of her.

Lowen insisted it wasn't him, and Arya believed him, sending a glare that could have killed Ipsen's way.
"What the fuck are you doing—-" but then Ipsen's voice crept into her mind.
His eyes were red.
Oh no. She had never seen that before.
"Cut Lowen's leg," the voice commanded.
Her hand tightened around the sword.
Her own eyes turned black.
"Lowen, I don't know what's happening, I'm sorry..."
And she brought the sword up and slashed Lowen's leg.

Lowen's world erupted in searing pain as a blade sliced through his leg, the sharp edge leaving a trail of agony in its wake. He crumpled to the ground, his instinct to escape the source of his torment overpowering any rational thought. In a desperate attempt to distance himself from the pain, he scooted backward, his movements a blend of agony and fear.

His eyes, clouded with pain, turned to Ipsen, a plea for mercy etched in his expression. "Stop it! Leave her alone!" Lowen's voice, laced with both desperation and defiance, carried his plea through the air. The anguish in his eyes mirrored the torment of his wounded leg, a testament to the physical and emotional toll inflicted upon him.

Ipsen's laughter echoed through the air like a dissonant melody from the depths of some ominous abyss. It carried an otherworldly quality, devoid of any genuine mirth, as if the very act of laughter had been twisted into a sinister refrain. The sound slithered through the ears like a malevolent serpent, leaving an unsettling chill in its wake.

As if triggered by some unseen force, the symbol adorning Arya's palm began to emit a faint, ethereal glow, casting an otherworldly luminescence upon the darkness. In an eerie synchronicity, a corresponding symbol manifested itself, etching its intricate pattern into Lowen's own hand, as if bound by some unseen connection.

It felt as if he was holding fire.

Arya shook her head, trying to get rid of Ipsen.
"Get out of my head!" She angrily yelled at Ipsen.
"Put pressure on your leg, Lowen. I-I can't tell how bad the cut is but i don't want to come near you in case he tries anything again."

Then, Lowen's hand glowed. Arya gasped. Was Ipsen going to try to take control of Lowen too?!?!

"NO! You can't have him!"
And she recklessly charged at Ipsen.

As Arya charged at Ipsen, her determination fueling each step, Ipsen effortlessly dissolved into thin air, leaving Arya to collide with nothing but an empty space. In the blink of an eye, he materialized behind Lowen, his voice cutting through the air with a sneer. "Hey boy," Ipsen taunted, his words hanging with a sinister familiarity, "Long time." Lowen, caught off guard by Ipsen's sudden appearance, turned with a mix of shock and anger.

"Stay away!" Lowen commanded, hastily scooting away from Ipsen, struggling to get back on his feet. A sharp pang shot through his leg from the wound, causing him to falter and return to the ground.

"Stop," Ipsen finally uttered, his voice resonating from every corner of the room, echoing both in the physical space and within their minds. It seemed to be omnipresent and nowhere all at once. "Both of you."

Arya thought she had Ipsen, and then he just...disappeared, leaving her to try to stab nothing. She lost her balance and fell to the ground, managing to roll out of the fall so she didn't faceplant. She indignantly stood back up, and looked frantically around the room for Ipsen. He formed right behind Lowen, and she yelled at Lowen to look out.

Then Ipsen commanded both of them to stop.
Arya found herself completely unable to move this time. The best she could do was shoot a glare Ipsen's way, fearfully awaiting his next move.

As Ipsen, his eyes aglow with malevolent intent, takes control of Arya and Lowen's movements, he commands them with a mere flick of his finger, a subtle yet powerful gesture that compels them to move towards him against their will. Their bodies seem to move of their own accord, as if guided by unseen forces, drawing closer to Ipsen with each reluctant step. As they stand before him, in fear and pain, Ipsen's gaze pierces through them with a haunting intensity, his eyes glowing with a sinister crimson hue that reflects the darkness of his intentions.

With a twisted smirk curling upon his lips, Ipsen extends his hand towards theirs, the symbols etched into their skin pulsating with an eerie glow that casts eerie shadows across the room. As their palms meet, a surge of searing energy courses through Arya and Lowen's bodies, causing them to cry out in agony as the burning sensation intensifies. It's as if their very essence is being drawn out of them, consumed by Ipsen's insatiable thirst for power.

Despite their desperate struggles, Arya and Lowen are powerless to resist, their wills subjugated by Ipsen's dark influence. Their energy flows into him, fueling his transformation as he absorbs their energy with each passing moment. The air crackles with dark magic as Ipsen's spectral form begins to coalesce, his ethereal presence slowly taking on tangible form. With each heartbeat, he grows stronger, inching ever closer to his ultimate goal of manifesting in the physical realm.

In the midst of their torment, Arya and Lowen can only watch helplessly as Ipsen's twisted ritual unfolds before their eyes, their bodies mere vessels for his dark ambitions. As the glow of their symbols fades and the room is plunged into darkness, the chilling realization dawns upon them: Ipsen's emergence into the mortal world draws near, and there may be no stopping him now.

Freed from the ritual, Lowen collapses onto the ground. Ipsen, now in a fully mortal form, casts one last look at him, before leaving the house.

Oh no.
Arya did not like where this was going, as she found herself forced to stand before Ipsen. Lowen was right beside her, and he now had the same thing carved in his palm too.
She desperately wanted to tell Lowen that they would be alright.
But is Ipsen going to kill them? It certainly felt like it.
But no...he was draining them.

The pain was like she had fallen into a campfire. It felt like she was consumed in flames. This was true agony. And at the same time, she felt something leaving her. Energy?? She couldn't quite place it. But it felt as if her very soul was getting sucked out of her.
Ipsen finished the ritual and left the house, going gods know where.
Arya fell to her knees and tried to get ahold of herself.
Ipsen was fully 'free' now, but she couldn't do much of anything right now.
"Lowen...Lowen?" She frantically looked around...there...he had collapsed. She went over to him as quickly as she could, and practically collapsed next to him, tightly holding his hand.

As the pain from Ipsen's ritual seared through Lowen's body, leaving him disoriented and gasping for air, he felt Arya collapse beside him. Summoning what little strength he had left, he managed to roll onto his side and wrap an arm around her, pulling her close. "What... what just happened?" he gasped, his voice strained with pain and confusion. "Where did Ipsen go?"

"I don't know!" Arya gasped.
"What even was that?" She looked around the house. Ipsen truly was gone.
"Lowen...I think he left."

Lowen's eyes fluttered open for a moment, his gaze searching frantically for any sign of Ipsen, but the space around him remained empty. With a heavy sigh, he allowed his head to slump back against the ground, a surge of pain shooting through his body with every movement. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon him, each labored breath a struggle as he grappled with the overwhelming sensations coursing through his battered form. Confusion clouded his thoughts as he tried to make sense of what had just transpired, his mind reeling with unanswered questions and growing frustration. Unable to muster the strength to rise, he lay there, feeling utterly defeated and helpless in the face of the unknown.

"Arya," he managed breathlessly. "Can you.. can you move your legs?"

Because he could not.

Upon trying, she found that she could.
"Yeah...I just...hurt a lot...are you ok otherwise?" She cautiously touched his thigh.
"Can you feel that?"
Ooooh she was pissed at Ipsen...but why did he let him die only to do whatever the fuck he had just done?

She slowly got up, wincing in pain, and made her way over to the kitchen and grabbed two glasses of water.
She half walked, half limped back to Lowen.
"Let me help you sit up," she said, setting the glasses of water down.
She gently dragged him over to the couch, and gently let him rest on that. It was, at least, softer than the ground.
She brought him a glass of water.
"You should drink this," she gently urged, holding it out to him.

As Lowen accepted the glass of water from Arya's outstretched hand, his fingers quivered with exhaustion. The cool liquid offered a momentary respite, but the relentless pounding in his head persisted, a constant reminder of the recent ordeal. "He's really gone," Lowen muttered, the words heavy with disbelief as he struggled to process the events that had transpired. "I can't feel him anymore."

Arya's presence beside him provided a sense of solace, her unwavering support a source of strength in the face of uncertainty. Turning to her, Lowen sought reassurance in her gaze. "What do you think he'll do?" he asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

"I-I honestly don't know...he wouldn't tell me much..."
She was worried.
"We have to stop him. Who knows what he will do!"
She thoughtfully looked at Lowen.
"We might have to go to the guild and see if they've heard anything."

Lowen's brow furrowed as Arya voiced her concern. "Should we?" he challenged softly, uncertainty lacing his tone. He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze drifting to the intricate carving etched into his palm. Ipsen's words echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of the bond they shared, whether he liked it or not.

"I've been stuck with Ipsen for a long time" he admitted reluctantly, his voice tinged with resignation. "Maybe this is our chance for a fresh start, but..." His words trailed off as doubt gnawed at him, uncertainty clouding his thoughts. He wasn't sure if he believed it himself, but the fear of the unknown glued his feet to the ground.

"We should be cautious," he finally said, his voice tinged with determination. "But we can't let him get away with whatever he's planning. Let's go to the guild and see if they've heard anything. Together, we'll figure this out."

"Yes. But let's do it tomorrow. I'm in a lot of pain, and we're both tired. It's not like he's coming back," Arya scoffed. As she said that though, the mark Ipsen had carved into her hand throbbed with a sharp burning pain.
She turned towards Lowen. "I am so glad you're ok. When I saw the platform drop...I thought you died. I was ready to give up. I just," and her voice broke, tears threatening to spill.
"I'm so glad you're here."