//Author Note: I would strongly urge you to read Rotten Æther | Scribble Hub alongside this story//

 

Æther flows fast through the proper æther channels in my body, burning them away slowly as I summon a contradictory cold. Frost spreads from my fingers into the air, before pooling at the ground by my feet and dispersing.

Usually, such magics are reserved for forming ice from water, the air is a far more stubborn medium to employ with such magics. For any real application, I’ll likely have to train in wind magics also, but even so, its utility in subtle action is too much to ignore.

Already I’ve startled a few servants with a sudden chill that seemingly comes from nowhere.

Perhaps if I can sustain it, it can play to my advantage, an inexplicable chill can seep into the nerves more effectively than a piercing nail of frost. For that, however, I must learn to sustain this magic as an aura.

Most proper mages maintain an aura of their own, and while it’s certainly a mysterious seeming effect to the mundane peasantry, it’s really nothing more than a training regime. It’s simply a matter of keeping the aether veins burning to strengthen them and encourage growth.

A powerful mage without an aura is far more threatening, as it suggests that they’re resting in anticipation of a serious fight.

This does mean that most nobles would see my frost aura as nothing more than an effort to train myself, so perhaps I should act with a little more discretion.

As an effort toward such ends, I redirect the flow of magic into my own body.

The summoned frost seeps through my flesh, and settles into my bones, after a few minutes of investment into the task, crystal ice forms over my skin in a growing web. If I were still human, I would have been screaming in intense pain and suffering, but now it’s almost akin to a warm bath. The chill embraces me and settles the anxieties that I can almost pretend aren’t stirring within.

A cracking whip breaks my focus, and I chance a small peek out the window, avoiding the direct light.

A man, not my own slave master but a servant from among uncle’s entourage, is playing about with not just my whip but my slaves as well. The violet-eyed girl who freely offered her blood just last evening now whimpers away from the striking whip.

The others around her are gathered in silent concern, though they dare not stop their own labours. The man is taking things further than he ought to. His untrained hand is doubtlessly causing undue injury.

A hiss slips from my lips, as the man continues.

I pull myself from my chair and amour myself in the hooded cloak that I prepared. I’ve delayed long enough already.

Ignoring the curious glances from the servants, I rush through the haunted halls of my home, my pace the height of speeds that a lady can walk in an emergency. Anyone looking should know of my rage, yet the blind little peasants dressed in servant’s livery all seem unconcerned.

I push through the front doors, the bright sunlight a physical wall before me. It cuts into my clothes, burning me away slowly. Slowly enough that I can bear to weather it.

The continued whip cracking only further inspires me to cross the wall of glowing death that stands in place of the open doors.

Not daring to reveal even a hint of weakness, I stride into the yard and head right for the man with the whip.

“Enough,” I say on my approach, but either he doesn’t hear, or doesn’t care. The girl still cowering turns her eyes toward me, surprise painting her expression much more than the pain.

“Enough!” I snap at the man, reaching out and grabbing his arm. He tries to shake me off, and I summon frost directly into his flesh. It’s much too weak to do any harm, but it’s more than enough to startle him back a step.

I watch him closely as he stumbles away, panic flowing off of him in waves, but quickly fading away. In the sunlight, the panic is worthless for my magics, but fear is just as useful to me as a noble.

“Who... who are you?”

“You crack my whip in my yard to wound my slaves, and you dare to ask who I am?” I step closer to him not letting my short stature limit me. “I was going to leave this matter at a simple flogging but it seems that I must make an example of you.”

“You’re the cursed girl!” The paid muscle shouts as if in realization, his panic dissipating all too quickly.

“You sir, will make for a fine example,” I say. “Perhaps I should adorn our gates with your severed head.”

“The lord said that you can’t leave the house.” The man says, “But I guess this is still the yard. You shouldn’t be running up and startling people, you know? The lord is still looking for a lady’s maid for you.”

He nervously chuckles, but I continue to glare at him until he finally retreats.

Hardly a victory for me. I’ll have to deal with him later since I am without knights to properly give effect to my commands. This truly is frustrating beyond reason. What is a lord or lady without the knights who obey them?

To be so reduced in both influence and dignity…

“Miss?” The violet-eyed girl asks after me, looking at me curiously and glancing down at my hand while sniffing. Her kind have better senses, and she can no doubt smell my sizzled flesh. I exposed myself in grabbing the man, and I can’t even heal the wound out here in the sunlight.

“Are you troubled by your injuries?” I ask, looking her over. The lashing cut right through her thin rags, and the wounds beneath look truly nasty. There are sure to be new scars added to her body should she not be treated, and ordinarily she wouldn’t be.

“I’m fine, miss.” She says, but it’s clear that she’s not. She’s still sickly pale, and the blood dripping from her wounds tells a clearer picture than the poor deception of her words.

“You’re not,” I say. “Come, there are some things I’d like to ask you, preferably away from here.”

“Miss…” She pulls me to a stop as I try to take her away. The other slaves, many of them children, stand around, shaking in fear. My uncle’s man may be gone for a moment, but it won’t be forever.

Is this girl acting as their protector?

“All of you come with me, then,” I say. “Perhaps you can assist me.”

It doesn’t take too long to gather them into the slave barracks. The women and children are gathered here but the men are separated into their own pen to prevent any unwanted pregnancies. It does also offer them some limited privacy between the sexes.

“I apologise, I have little influence here with my uncle having infested the house with the ill-born creatures he considers servants,” I say, disappointed in my own failings as a countess.

The slaves all take their places in the darkness of the room, glad for a moment’s rest. With the door closed my power returns to me, limitedly, and I can heal my wounds using the æther flowing through my dry veins.

Here, within the darkness, the sweet tang of blood becomes ever so much more tempting, but I must go about this with careful dignity.

“Now, if I may?” I say gesturing to the bleeding wounds gathered on the girl’s back. I ignore the stares offered to me by the rest of the slaves as she nods, turning her back to me.

It’s… more than a little bit strange to be licking at another person’s back but the sweet taste of blood draws me in, and my shame passes quickly. My first task is to understand the limits of my recovery magic.

“Things have hardly really changed for us,” The girl says, barely making a whisper. “It doesn’t matter who holds the whip, it’s the same stinging in the end.”

“I don’t understand…” I say, tasting of her wounds. It seems that simply drinking the spilt blood isn’t enough to heal her though my magic should work in such a way. “My father is… was a proper noble. I’m sure that the whip master would have restrained his use for when you were deserving, no?”

There’s a pause around the room, and many of the younger slaves turn away from me or lower their heads in silent tears.

“Things have hardly changed at all,” she repeats, and I don’t really know how to respond to that. Was our last whip master unnecessarily cruel, too? Surely something like that would have been noticed, no?

I sink my fangs softly into the wounds covering her back, and finally, my æther finds passage and expression. As I draw from the current of her blood, my magic travels along the uninterrupted blood flow healing the wound. When the current of blood is split, my power has no direction to travel. Even when working right, I must still press my fangs close to the injury.

I finish my work with her wounds, my recovery magic working more efficiently than any healing magic of the same power. Now I have a slightly firmer grip on my understanding of the magic, but I’ll need to test it more later.

“Thank you,” the girl says turning around and looking me in the eyes. “If I might ask… why are you doing this?”

“Whether my uncle recognises it or not, I’m the rightful inheritor of this land. I am a countess and you are my responsibility,” I answer easily. “When I see how poorly you were being treated, isn’t it natural that I do something to resolve the issue? One can’t be a noble without a proper bearing, I must be sure to stand for what is right and defend my people, even the slaves, from injustice and cruelty.”

The girl just shakes her head with a sad smile on her lips, it doesn’t seem as warm as it ought to be, but she doesn’t explain her thoughts.

“In any case, I had wanted to ask an extra service of you,” I say, sitting up straight. “I am seeking to develop my magics, and a large part of that is learning how to scare a person. I’m not certain if I’m currently walking the right path, and it seems that you’re the only people here that I can truly trust.”

“You need to scare people to practice your magic?” The violet-eyed girl says.

“Yes, but first, what is your name?” I ask. “I ought to know it already, but I never did find the opportunity until now. I’d like to hear from all of you.”

“You really are a strange human.” She says, smiling a little more warmly this time. “I’m… you humans can never speak the sounds right. My name means Piper in your tongue, so call me that.”

“Piper.”

“Yes, my parents wanted me to be a musician, I think,” She says. “I used to practice with the bound pipes, a sort of flute, but the guards didn’t like the sound…”

“I’d like to hear you play when I have the chance,” I say, listening closely as the rest of the slaves give me their names. There are a few tricks to learning and remembering names, but part of it comes simply from experience. As a noble, it wouldn’t be good to forget a face, or what family a person comes from, so I’m rather practised at it.

“So, this fear magic?” Piper insists on returning us to the topic.

“I have a powerful blend of magics that work best in an atmosphere of terror. I have a few ideas on how to work towards creating such an air about myself, but I can’t guarantee that my ideas will work, so I’d like your thoughts.”

“On what we find scary?” She asks, raising a brow.

“Quite so. First of all, I have been casting frost magic on myself, is this frightening at all?” I ask, touching her hand. The frost crystals melt from her warmth, but she doesn’t react.

“I thought it felt nice and cool in here,” Piper says, nodding appreciatively. “Not scary though.”

“Sounds scary,” Hunter says, he’s a boy still too young to be separated from his mother. He carefully reaches out and places his hand on mine.

“Scary,” he says, pulling away quickly.

“Okay, I’ll consider it a partial success. I can also cast a particular magic that should frighten you when you meet my eyes,” I say, directing it first toward Piper. She meets my eyes and though magic burns through them and into her, there’s no change in her expression.

“Nothing?” I ask, slumping.

“I don’t feel anything. Sorry?” Piper hesitantly apologises, scratching her head and turning from me.

“Try me, try me!” Hunter says, crawling a little closer. A few other kids approach alongside him, thinking it some new game.

I turn my gaze down to him and he instantly freezes up, he sits there in motionless shock for about ten seconds before the effect wears off. Even the fear that I felt from him earlier is gone now, replaced with a strangely gentle warmth.

“I see. So, it doesn’t work on everyone. Maybe it’s because Piper is particularly fearless?” I guess at the reason while working with the children to figure out the other qualities of my magic. Without them feeling proper fear, I can’t summon the weaker of my magics, but that’s not too much of a concern.

Afterwards, we discuss what things I can do to frighten a person, and they have some interesting ideas and thoughts on the matter.

The older slaves keep a distance from us while watching closely, they make no subtle secret of the grudges that they bear towards me, but they don’t interfere, and I leave them to their own thoughts.

I’m… concerned.

They aren’t quite the animalistic creatures that they ought to be. Slavery was initially premised on the idea that they would be humanised by being around civilisation. The same reason why it’s so frequently used for criminals; to rehabilitate them. Perhaps we succeeded in that goal but forgot about it somewhere along the way.

Or perhaps… perhaps that noble goal was an ignoble lie all along.

Maybe my father wasn’t as perfect as I thought, because at least in this I’m certain that he made some mistakes. These children deserve more than this life. They deserve more than the whip and this sad excuse for a life.

I’ll have to do something to amend this issue.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

I’ve learnt one important lesson from my magic training through the day, one thing that I failed to notice before.

I have nothing to improve my stealth.

Surely there would be some shadow magic that would help to hide me from sight, or to stifle the sounds that I make as I move. If I truly am a quiet hunter of the night, that would be a part of my nature, but it isn’t.

So, what am I?

I am a noble lady, and I stand with dignity, I don’t crawl in the shadows and darkness. I stride through it with confidence.

Thankfully, it’s proven rather easy to develop my telekinetic magic into the most primitive form that can be used. While my time as a young lady has been focused on other studies up until my death, I have still been properly educated. The new magic isn’t at all unfamiliar, simply unpractised.

Night has fallen over my manor, and in the darkness, my spirit truly returns. No matter how much the servants scrub, the scent of blood never truly goes away. The death lingers in the air around us, and nowhere is it more dense than in the dining room where my uncle and his family now feast.

My aunt at least has enough limited sense to notice that there is something off, but uncle simply sinks his snout into the soup and snuffles it down like an undignified beast. Even the slaves showed more refined manners when they received their flavourless gruel.

The blood here is overwhelming, the death palpable. It’s like my soul comes alive here, in the place where I died. I can just remember it now… The fear, the terror, the… red eyes…

An issue for another time, I’m still weak.

With my sharpened senses, I can find the man who dared use the whip so cruelly this afternoon.

I owe him punishment.

Perhaps feeding from him will strengthen me.

He is in one of the servant’s dorms, a small space with but a bed, a bedside table, and a dresser. The man himself seems largely unconcerned, relaxing on the soft mattress without even thinking to take off his boots. If we had proper maids, they’d kill him for such an offence.

The hall where I stand, outside his room, is empty, so there is no one here to stop me as I kill the weak flickering flames of the candles and lamps. Once the hall is properly dark, I glance through the keyhole into the man’s room.

He’s grumbling about this or that while staring up at the ceiling, the candle lighting his room is thankfully in sight. Wasting no time, I use my telekinesis to pull it off of the bedside table.

The flames are quick to spread out over the carpet. A small luxury item that’s already stained with dirt.

Cursing loudly, the man throws himself off of the bed and stomps out the fire with his boots. I can taste the fright bleeding off of him, a momentary thing, but it’s enough to let me into the room.

Reality moves around me as I flood my body with æther and move into the room, and suddenly I’m standing behind the man. I grab his chin with freezing cold hands and lift it up with all the force I can muster. In the moment before the man can react, I run my dagger across his throat.

I surprise myself with my own strength, and the blade cuts easily through the flesh of his neck.

The man flails uselessly, spraying blood all about, a waste that I cannot accept. I lean over the man and drink of his lifeblood, drawing his strength from him as he slowly realizes his cruel fate.

Terror sweetens the blood, forming a divine ichor that runs down my throat and boils through my body, tingling my fingers and toes. Each warm mouthful of blood floods through my body with a satisfaction that I’ve never once known.

When the last drop is drawn from him, I stare down at the body, his glazed eyes still dripping with terror.

“Now what can be done with this?” I ask myself, considering the opportunity as I lick my lips clean.

For such a cruel man, he was surprisingly sweet in the end.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

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