
--- Jugular ♂ ---
I can see the lies in a thousand bloody smiles and I can see the laughter in a hundred greedy graves,
I can see the sunshine in your tight-lighted grin and I can see the magic in your crystal waves. He was her necromancer.
Her master.
Her enslaver.
And she was supposed to be all that he had hoped for. He had worked for days, for years, falling into the black arts in prayers of somehow bringing his wife back from the dead. He followed all the instructions, word for word, and stitched his own doll for his wife to inhabit until he found a proper body.
It had all been for this, this single moment, this climax in his life. And Jugular settled down on the edge of a chalk circle, pressed his palms into the blood that stained the center, and began to chant.
His words didn't stop until the blackness seeped into his mind and drove him into nightmares.
She was his slave.
His hope.
His single desire.
And she was supposed to be his wife. Serafina came into a world of intense colors and smelling of rosemary and death. When she turned her head, she saw only a blood-stained man clutching the edge of the circle that captured her and bent over in sleep. She lifted her hands in front of her and looked at the long, delicate fingers that had so carefully been made and wondered what sort of hell this was.
She remained silent until the other began to stir. And abruptly, it was all screams and yelling and him grabbing her by the chin and all she remembered was the horrible stench of blood coming out of his mouth, like he had eaten something dead, no, eaten something alive...
And when they had drew back from each other, panting like wild animals, their gazes were barbaric.
"You aren't my wife."
His words were scissors into her body. She stopped, spine arched, and a soft frown curved her mouth. Her button eyes, so nonplussed and distant, seemed to soften. Her muscles quietly relaxed.
"No, I'm not."
He rose to his feet with a tattered expression that ruined what might have been called handsome and steadied the witch's hat that rested on his head. Erasing one section of the circle to let her out, he gestured to the door. "Go." His word was tired, stressed. He rubbed a hand through his oily black hair.
"Get out."
But Serafina was frozen. Her feet traveled not to the door, but to him.
Gently, ever so gently, she touched his mouth with a fingertip. He recoiled, but the inward pleasure at being touched by another was obvious in his gaze. She stepped forward once again, inches from him, and breathed a sad, tangled sentence.
"I can pretend."
His grin was abruptly foolish and his scarlet eyes darkened. He turned and walked further into the house and left her in that little empty room, where she wilted away for months to come. His final words to her, the only thing to keep her company for those next long, ceaseless days, was the cruelty of,
"You could never be her."

--- Serafina ♀ ---
I can see your shadow, darker then the black, and I know that they all want is to take me back,
But I can see your truth and I can see your lies and all I want is for everything to die.