There was a set pattern of doing things, and Merris never deviated. Order and consistency were the only methods in which he operated. Everything was clean, measured, and exact in Merris’ world. He was careful. He was precise. It was the only way anything in the mortal world made any sense. It was the only way he could control what he found frustratingly unpredictable.

He found food to be complicated and a little terrifying. He did not like bold flavors and he did not like the idea of ingesting anything unsanitary. Thus he kept it simple. He kept to his routine. He did not eat meat or consume anything that had any connection to animals. He was well aware that his compulsions may come off to others as alien or strange, and thus he tried not to eat in front of people altogether.

Socializing was also daunting. He wanted to be sure that he was following proper channels and protocols when he was contacting those in the world outside his manor. But he was eager to learn. He was eager to spread his wings and attempt to connect with others. He wanted to become familiar with formal etiquette and standards of entertaining.

It was only through strict repetitious discipline and practice that he felt he would ever come to understand the foreign world around him.

The meetings with Lillandyr Shadowglade were increasingly important to him on not just a business level, but a personal one as well. With her, he found a person to which he could relate. After nearly fifty years of taking afternoon tea with her, he found that he was developing romantic feelings. He enjoyed that she listened to him patiently, no matter what he had to say. She seemed interested in him on an intellectual level, but he desperately wanted it to root deeper. Yet he found it impossible to communicate this to her.

Because of his debilitating self-consciousness, Merris unfortunately never noticed Lady Shadowglade’s advances. She flirted with him, teased him, and toyed with him for weeks in their first tea sessions. She interpreted it as disinterest, and thus left his love for her unrequited.

Merris always woke just before dawn every morning, and went to bed at sunset. There were times when he strayed from his routine. But even those were weighed and scheduled. Nothing was ever random.

His manor was vast and stretching. However, in the busy, bustling city, it was a lonely and desolate place. It was the largest of all the estates within the entire city of Belshalara, dwarfing Shadowglade’s property by several dozen acres.

When he first arrived in Belshalara, he had nearly a hundred servants. He had guards, butlers, and maids. He had banner men and a small military force. He had an array of all the employees and underlings that was expected of him as a sophisticated nobleman. He purposefully made a show of his wealth and importance. Yet it was just that: a show. After the grandeur, fanfare, and demonstration, he dismissed the living, breathing servants and replaced them with his creations. He needed far less of them to populate his estate and got the same amount of work done.

Of all of his undead servants, he only had three Unquenched. His most favored of the three was a woman named Lauris. Unlike Lady Shadowglade, he kept his non-living servants a secret. It was taboo to have them within the city walls. They were dangerous and volatile. They were horrifying and repulsive.

After Merris settled into his manor, others began to whisper about him. He was Merris the Black, Merris the Moth, Merris the Strange. His home was supposedly haunted. Rarely did they ever see him or any of his so-called “servants” enter in or out of his pointed wrought-iron gates. His hedges were overgrown and his garden held only flowers with sharp, jagged thorns. Some said the merchants that had dared to step foot on his property had never returned.

But he was respected as much as he was feared. He was a cutthroat businessman and a man of impeccable taste in art.

Merris was a man of many, many mysteries and secrets.

He never allowed his undead servants off the property. They were not even allowed to roam the gardens and orchards in the daytime. He fed them himself, discarded organ meat from the butchers and trapped game animals from his property.

Like everything in his home, Lauris the Unquenched was a beautiful creature. She had a cold, delicate face and pale dead eyes. However, she was truly dying. In a matter of weeks, she would succumb to rot and meet her final death. No matter how many times he paid homage to the god of death, Nehmain, she would eventually fall apart. He stitched her back together several times with careful, practiced hands and thick, black thread. She would soon need to be replaced. She now resembled a rag doll, with heavy, jagged crisscross stitches on her arms, legs, hips, and neck. It was disappointing and sad. He would miss his favorite toy.

Lauris rarely spoke. She wasn’t good company, but she listened well. She followed Merris’ routine like clockwork and never failed to execute an order. She was a function and a tool. She was the first face he saw when he woke up in the morning and often the final face he saw when he went to bed at night. She made sure she and the other creatures were scarce on the rare occasion that Merris did have a living, breathing guest, like Lady Lillandyr, visiting the property.

Lauris’ gentle, chilly hands pressed against Merris’ shoulders to wake him. That was all it took to stir him from his shallow slumbers in his oversized, luxurious, soft bed. His eyes flashed open and he saw his lovely servant in her black and white maid outfit standing over him. She stepped away and fetched him his heavy silk housecoat to fend off the morning chill. She held it out for him to step into. It was then he noticed something was off about her.

“Lauris...” he whispered, yawning and bleary-eyed. He slid out of bed and frowned as he snaked one arm through a sleeve, and then the other. “Where is your thumb?” he asked with a hint of disapproval.

Shyly, the dead woman said nothing. Her blue-tinged hand dipped into the pocket of her lacy apron. She plucked out her thumb and handed it to him. It had fallen off in the night.

He accepted the detached limb and examined it. The inevitable was coming. Merris would need to replace her. He needed more help. Lauris looked vaguely embarrassed. He saw the look of shame on her porcelain face. He dropped the thumb into his robe’s pocket and tipped her head up with his finger.

“Lauris,” he said gently in his quiet, forgiving voice. “Don’t worry. I can fix you as I have in the past. You have seen what I have done for Thaeldris?”

The fragile, mute creature nodded. Thaeldris was one of the other Unquenched that Merris kept. Of the three, he was the most terrifying, the most decomposing. He was a brute and a monster. He was a more typical Unquenched, fierce, angry, and voracious. Merris kept him chained. He was used for protection, security, and performed necessary, ugly tasks. Merris was the only thing Thaeldris seemed to fear and obey. Even the other undead would not step near Thaeldris.

It was undeniable that Merris had kept him in good condition.

“If you fetch me some needle and thread along with my breakfast, I shall mend this for you.”

Lauris’ dull, lifeless eyes almost sparkled eagerly. She turned and swiftly left the room. Her black, shining heels were silent across the patterned carpet.

Merris tied off his robe and waited, sitting on the edge of his bed. He smeared away the remains of sleep from his face. His long black hair was rumpled and his neatly cropped beard needed a trim. Once put together, Merris was as exceptionally clean and sharp in appearance as he was in his mannerisms.

Lauris returned with a tray of his steaming breakfast. It was always the same. Plain, hot oatmeal, a cup of black tea with one cube of sugar, a few pieces of fruit, and a side of raw carrots. He enjoyed carrots; he liked the way they crunched, like the snapping of bones in his teeth. Beside the white bowl of carrots, a sharp, long silver needle and a spool of thick, black thread sat. Dutifully, his servant offered the golden tray to him.

“Thank you,” he said gently, dipping his spoon into his oatmeal. Lauris turned away to fetch his brush, his nail clippers, and his straight razor with the mother-of-pearl handle. She warmed his bath and heated his shaving cream as he ate. It was the same routine every day. His servant assisted in dressing him, bathing him, applying sandalwood oil to his skin, and preparing him for the day.

Once those tasks were done, Lauris helped ease him into his dress robes. Today it was a black cassock with a collar that buttoned to his throat. He wore a plain, fat gray sash around his waist. When he was dressed, she slid his silver moth ring onto the index finger of his left hand. It was heavy enough to weigh down his palm, the wingspan crossed over his knuckles.

Afterward, he beckoned Lauris to come closer. He had the needle and thread in hand. She did not hesitate to approach.

“Lauris,” he asked as he threaded the needle and clipped the string to the needed length. “Did you have one of the geists fetch me the body I asked for?” He peered to the Unquenched curiously. She nodded.

“Good. Give me your hand,” he said firmly. Lauris offered him her hand. It was frail and he could see that the skin was loosening. She didn’t have much time.

He then took the severed thumb and positioned it on the brown stump of the open, necrotic tissue. Slowly, he began to stitch her together again. “The seams around your face, Lauris… the skin is slipping, I noticed. I can try to mend it in place again. Maybe give you a new face?” he spoke quietly and glanced up to her as he worked. Her countenance was beginning to look a little lopsided. It was just a very subtle shift that he noticed when he was up close.

He cared for all of his creatures, like a father to his children or a puppet master to his dolls. He sewed her thumb back on, careful and precise. It was done lovingly. Lauris watched patiently and showed no signs of pain. She merely looked relieved to have it reattached.

“Or, I can perhaps craft you a mask. Cover it,” he suggested.

She made no reaction or preference. She didn’t speak.

He sighed. “I know, darling. It’s... inevitable,” he conceded and went on as if she said something. “The end for you is near. And I will need a replacement. I was almost thinking... a living person this time. But!” He clipped the end of the thread with a shining, small pair of scissors as he spoke. She flexed her thumb. “There, good as new. And, I know, I share the same concerns you do. Who would be fitting for such a job? It would take a special person indeed. Someone who could be trusted with my secrets. Seems... almost impossible. But a worry for another time, yes?” He placed his sewing scissors down on the tray.

“Now,” he said as he addressed his servant. She looked at him expectantly. He couldn’t stop staring at the minor flaws now that he had noticed them. Her face was slowly slipping off her skull. The imperfections bothered him greatly. He fidgeted with his hands in front of him as he continued, “Go down to the laboratory and prepare the cadaver for me. I need only the bones. I will be making something special today. A gift, in fact, for the Lady Shadowglade. I want the bones dried, cleaned, and bleached. You will likely need help in this task. Ask whomever you wish. I intend to work for the rest of the day and do not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances.”

She nodded several times in understanding.

He didn’t create his artwork for the purposes of being disturbing or macabre. The creatures he made kept loneliness at bay. They did not judge him nor say anything unexpected. They did not think him strange; they respected and feared him. He could confide in his undead friends. He could form and control them into whatever he wanted.

Mortals perplexed and baffled him. They were unpredictable. He did not understand the subtle nuances of socializing nor do he have the ability to relate. He always felt as if he did not belong, always alone in a crowded room of people.

However, he was still lonely, even among his creations. He was a living, breathing person. They were not. They reminded him of what he could not have.

No matter where Merris went, he was always a stranger. He was forever anomalous and singular.

To help keep himself occupied, he created symphonies of art within his laboratory. Today, he wished to make something for the dear Lady Shadowglade.

There were several tasks that he needed to perform before the laboratory would be ready for him to work.

Merris was also a deeply religious man. He paid homage to just two gods, and today, he needed both of their blessings.

Both gods looked upon him benevolently for who and what he was. He was rewarded for this deep devotion. Both the gods granted him nearly every favor he asked, and thus it made him even more formidable.

He had to worship them in secret. What he did was forbidden and taboo. It was possible that he would have not only been ostracized, but was very likely he would be cast from the city or killed for his practices.

The god Nehmain was the god of death, decay, and rebirth. Nehmain had domain over all undead, including the Unquenched. With Nehmain, Merris had a symbiotic relationship. Merris’ ability to craft and create necrotic flesh into beautiful artwork and reanimate them into functioning undead creatures pleased the god. Each servant Merris created was a sacrifice and tribute to him. Nehmain listened to his prayers and accepted his fealty. Nehmain made Merris’ natural talents over the dead even more powerful.

The second god was Venorith, the god of wickedness, evil hearts, and destruction. He was the Adversary. The Destroyer of Light. The Usurper. Any spells, books, scrolls, idols, or prayers to Venorith were strictly banned.

One of the first things that struck Merris about Lady Shadowglade was that she was the only person that he had ever met that had even dared speak Venorith’s name. But she not only spoke the Usurper’s epithet, she tested it and teased. She briefly tasted what the god had to offer. She sought out his teachings, written in the language of demons. She asked Merris for one of his spell books.

He truly doubted that Shadowglade had any idea of the extent of Merris’ involvement with the god. He was sure that Lillandyr assumed that he was like her, just a curious passerby scholar with the insatiable desire for knowledge and power. It was much, much more than that with Merris.

It was complicated.

The largest reason for his relationship with Venorith was that he was certain the god could grant him the one thing he desired – something he wanted more than anything else in the world.

Merris wanted to one day die.

He had been working towards this goal for several years. In order to accomplish it, he needed the Idol of Turtih. Since he had met Shadowglade, she had been asking him for books and spells. He did not mind granting her these favors. In fact, he enjoyed them. He felt helpful, like a good friend. He relished seeing her happy. Shadowglade was his only true companion in the world, and spending any amount of time with her pleased him. Tea with the Lady was the only social event he ever looked forward to. But this time he needed something in return.

He’d gladly give her one of the Usurper’s spell books in exchange for the Idol of Turtih. He loathed and resented asking her for anything, let alone something this important. He did not want to seek outside help for something so private and personal. But he was growing desperate. He had run into dead ends and brick walls in his own quest for the idol. And it was just one of the many things he would need to accomplish his objective.

Shadowglade was increasingly becoming a bigger and bigger problem for him. She always was an issue for Merris, but his compulsions were growing stronger. He didn’t know how to address them. His inability to express himself had made him even more awkward in his already uncomfortable skin. He wanted to do something for her to perhaps impress her and communicate his feelings. But one could not just write a love letter to Lady Lillandyr. Merris had never married, loved, or even touched a woman before.

The first thing he was going to do was head to the shrine of Venorith within his estate. Once there, he was going to spread the ashes of a slaughtered black lamb and pray to the god to grant him a boon.

He had a servant bring the lamb. The shambling, elongated legs and leather skin of his servant stretched and creaked like a dried spider. It was a geist, one of his many undead creatures. Like people, each of his creations was unique and different, serving a specific purpose. The geist carried the black lamb, mewling and frightened in the cage.

The shrine to Venorith on Merris’ estate was hidden deep below ground. To access it, he activated several secret magical seals. He built it when he first entered the city, and took every precaution to ensure that it was secure and discrete. He traveled down the narrow, corkscrew stairway that gradually opened to the shrine.

The shrine to his god was more of a small temple. It was lit with cold, everlasting blue flames along the walls. It was a plain stone room that held the stale smell of incense and copper from past offerings. On the far end was a black marble altar. Behind the altar was a swooping, leering onyx statue that represented the god himself. The face of Venorith was hidden behind a shadowed cowl. The figure held an hourglass in one hand and a pair of balance scales in the other. Judgment and time.

Merris was keeping his request simple. He wanted the oracle to choose him for celebrations in the Feast of Saint Baellith. If all went well, Lillandyr would lay with him as tribute to the god in the celebrations. He was sick and tired of the object of his affections ignoring him and not acknowledging him as a possible suitor. Since he met her, he had to watch her, year after year, make love to someone else that wasn’t him in front of the entire city. It became unbearable. He stopped attending the feasts. It hurt too much every time. This year would be different.

Often, he felt as if Lillandyr looked at him as just a smudge caught on the bottom of her shoe or a vile, disease carrying cockroach. Not that he could entirely blame her. Flirting and courtship was something he never quite grasped. Additionally, she was intelligent and well beyond beautiful. She was out of his league. He was beneath her. Doing this was merely one step he intended to take to express his interest. The next would be the gift he intended to build for her. The gift, if it went according to plan, was merely a preamble to the Feast Day. It would hopefully warm her to him. Make her think of him as a man. Maybe even come to care for him.

He was very aware that this was developing into an obsession with Shadowglade. It probably wasn’t considered normal to feel pangs of longing so deeply, so profoundly. And he knew that the Marquis was not a woman to court. Many had tried and failed. He felt guilt over it.

She was cold and untouchable, as distant and as lovely as a shining star in the black sea of night. However, her dismissive mood in their last meeting frightened him; he worried that he had lost her forever. It was his fault. What if she never wanted to see him again? Then he would truly be cut off from the world. He would have lost his best and only friend. He was driven to make a genuine, grandiose effort. How was she to know his feelings for her if he didn’t at least try? Merris was aware that this attempt might fail, but it was the only way he knew how.

Merris motioned for his geist to bring the black lamb. After setting the cage down on the altar, he snapped on a pair of gloves and asked for his ceremonial dagger. The geist fetched the crooked, ivory blade with the ruby jeweled handle. Merris muttered something in a dark and incomprehensible language, the words of demons and the dead. To him, this was natural. He was not doing anything foul or wicked. He was merely asking for help from his heart from someone he trusted. The room grew darker and the geist scuttled away in fear, back up the stairs and out of the way. Merris did not even notice his servant leave him in a flurry of long, twisted arms and legs.

Merris gripped the lamb by the scruff of his neck to keep him in place. The beast howled and cried with a wet, guttural gasp. Merris plunged the dagger into the lamb’s neck, instantly slaughtering it. All the while, he chanted and prayed, asking Venorith for the oracle to choose him this year.

Nothing happened. Merris was alone in his underground temple. He stood in the cold darkness as the blood of his sacrifice puddled and dripped onto the floor. Then, unexpectedly, a circular wall of ice-blue flames exploded around the dead animal. When the fire licked and died down around the altar, the lamb was consumed and the blood was gone. All that was left was sooty ash. The offering had been accepted and it was a sign that Venorith had heard him.

Merris had asked for help in a similar manner many, many times. Venorith never failed to speak to him. Sometimes it was not the answer he wished to hear. He grasped the ashes of the lamb and scattered them across the alter. As the soot rose in the air, a form began to appear. It was a mouth, a pair of masculine lips with long, sharp teeth. It was fleeting, like a gray ghost made of cinders and dirt.

“You’re asking me to supersede the wishes of another god with this request, Merrisss...” the mouth made of flickering, falling debris hissed.

“I’m aware of that,” Merris said as he clapped and dusted ashes off his hands. Then he peeled the gloves off and stuffed them into the pockets of his cassock. He spoke to Venorith’s angel and mouthpiece casually, as if he were an old friend. The ashes spoke for the god; he was representing the divine entity himself.

“Why her? Why Shadowglade...?” the airy, gritty voice asked with a hint of malice. The voice didn’t even seem to come from the powdery figure. The words were not matching the movement of the phantom lips, which hung in the air. The voice of the angel seemed to seep from the walls and echo inside of Merris’ head.

“You know as well as I that if I were to choose a mate or a wife that Lillandyr would be a suitable match. I do not know if she is one of your disciples, but she certainly shows interest. It would be impossible to merely be with just any female. Not with... not with who and what I am, Venorith.”

The lips paused and fell silent. A long, snake-like tongue made of dust lapped across the pointed teeth. “Very well,” the voice of the god said quietly after some deliberation. “Though it cannot be done immediately. The oracles are blessed creatures, celestial and protected. I promise you, Merris Osterious, that your will shall be done. I may require more blood, more tribute, for this undertaking.”

“You know as well as I that all I do and say is in your name, Venorith,” Merris replied as he brushed soot off his black and gray robes. That wasn’t entirely true. Merris had his own agendas. But he was quite aware that gods adored having their egos stroked. The mouthpiece hummed and chuckled in amusement. He turned his back on the floating entity, readying himself to leave the temple and return to work.

“Indeed. Darkness and shadows light your path, Osterious,” the angel said before it collapsed into sand upon the altar.

He strode back up the stairwell and was immediately greeted with Lauris waiting for him. Merris’ bleach white lab coat, goggles, and a clean pair of gloves were resting in her arms. Apparently, everything was ready for him. Merris motioned for her to follow.

The laboratory was located at the far end of the manor. It was sterile and perfectly spotless, despite the gruesome, bloody abominations that came to pass within the walls. It was also the source of the smell in the house. It stank faintly of meat, formaldehyde, and harsh cleansers. Even though it was surgically pristine and barren, all of Merris’ creative artworks and undead creatures were made within the laboratory.

It was a small, whitewashed dungeon with a chrome plated table in the center. Large, industrial meathooks hung from the ceiling. There was a freezer in the back of the room sealed shut by a heavy steel door. The meat locker contained all the parts and horrors that one could imagine. Yet he kept everything perfectly preserved and disinfected.

Lauris held out his double-breasted, white lab coat for him. He snaked one arm in, and then the other. He buttoned the coat all the way to his collar, protecting his plain black robes. Then he latched on his goggles and yanked on his gloves. Lauris then wordlessly proceeded to dress herself appropriately to act as his assistant. She knew the routine. Her heels clicked across the floor to fetch him his array of tools.

Upon the steel slab surgical table was exactly what he asked for: clean, dried, bleached bones from a young female. It wasn’t just any female; she once was Lady Lillandyr’s courtesan. She was Belindra. One of Merris’ servants cut down her body and collected it for him in the night. Merris only thought it fitting to use her in his gift to the Lady Shadowglade.

Lastly, to prepare himself, he strapped on a surgical mask to protect him from breathing in the bone dust. He worked hard and well into the night. Along with his expert artistic skills, the god Nehmain worked through his hands. Lauris handed him tools and paced the room with a swinging thurible. She blessed the room to allow Nehmain access to assist Merris in his crafting of the ivory artwork. He would not have been able to complete such a thing without the assistance of a god.

He molded and carved the bones into a dozen small mythical creatures. Tiny griffons and dragons. Winged horses and unicorns. Merris carved a manticore and a phoenix. The bones were polished and stretched into a sheet. He folded and chiseled. Along the way, he chanted prayers. Merris turned Belindra’s bones into something delightful and otherworldly.

He did not paint it. He felt he did not need to with the amount of detail that had been carved and etched into this piece. Every animal was perfectly engraved with expression and love. The pointed, tent-like roof was decorated with very fine, tiny patterns. When it spun on its axis, the animals bobbed up and down. It was whimsical. It was beautiful.

The mythical carousel made from Belindra’s bones was nearly completed. All it needed was music and a charm.

“Lauris,” he said quietly. “There should be a cylinder from a music box over there.” He pointed as he brushed his arm across his forehead, mopping away some sweat. “When we are done, this will be... perhaps a masterpiece.”

Lauris nodded and brought him a small, brass, clockwork cylinder with a wind-up key. When played, the song sounded like clinking, sweet silver bells that caused the carousel to spin. As he added the mechanical harp inside, Merris made the final touch to his piece. He prayed a small offering to the god, Baellith, the god of lust and desire. Since he used the bones of the whore as a contribution, the deity heard and accepted his prayer.

Merris enchanted the carousel with Baellith’s blessing. When it was activated, Lillandyr would be filled with thoughts of him. Amorous, naked, writhing dreams would swell in her mind. She would long to touch him and lick him, moan for him and cry for his kisses. He wanted her to desire him sensually, warm to him, and think of him as a possible suitor, not just as a bookish friend. Like a thick perfume, the thoughts would permeate and soil her mind in a heady aphrodisiac.

The spell was quick and small and would quickly wear off. It would only reactivate if she wound the key again. It was not permanent, only a taste intent to open the way for the Feast of Saint Baellith, where, if everything went according to plan, she would know him as a lover for the first time.

In the meantime, Merris finished his gift just as dawn cracked along the horizon. He had been working for nearly fourteen hours. He was tired. His hands ached and shook. He was mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually drained. He hadn’t put so much of himself into something in months. It was hard and laborious. But it was precious to him.

Presentation was important. Merris was a perfectionist in everything he did. Lauris fetched a painted wooden box made special for the carousel. It, too, was a work of art. It was painted in crimson, gold, and violet. There was an ornate latch on the front and a velvet pillow inside. Gently, he slid it in and snapped it closed.

He did not sign his work and there was no card. There was no indication as to whom it was from. Merris sent his third Unquenched to spirit through the shadows and have it deliver it to the Lady Shadowglade’s front step.

No one saw his servant come or go. The gorgeous box carrying a piece of Merris’ expression of deep affection and adoration was waiting for her as the sun rose.