The night sky shined, the world below illuminated by that atmosphered moon up high although sliced in half. Midnight, it had once been said, was that hour of ghosts and moving shades hidden amidst the quiet; of stalkers and walkers lurking amidst the darkness.

Days had passed, yet House Berrybottom still reeled from that sudden death by a cause none knew; a scentless blight without marks nor signs, beyond that of the destruction of mind. Yet unbeknownst to them, pestilence was not what had been spreading; rather, an abyss had been taking hold—a presence whose roots had seemingly threaded themselves into everything; a presence unheard, unseen, and unfelt by almost everything and everyone…beyond the occasional vague sense of something watching.

Although, it seemed that there was one particular soul who was the exception; one whose aura was so potent and wide; one whose essence, being so toned and built—frequently activated and utilized—, was sensitive enough to be more attuned; one whose 'nose', so to speak, had begun to 'sniff out' that something was 'wrong' in this house, even if nebulous or undefinable…

One to whom she had so revealed herself on that certain day, with such predacious eyes and devilish allure; an encounter which alone seemed to have been more than enough to cause him to seek and inquire. And lucky a boy he was, to have a father—a house line—who collected such random works and books from all eras and ages despite never reading them.

Fables, tales, stories, accounts and recounts; from these, he had seemingly pieced things together. A contrived convenience, one could almost say, how quick this had all befallen, if such were not simply the plain reality—the blandest of all stories…

That he had been playing inquisitor outside her eye; that he was convinced there was such a 'creature' of night stalking within this house; that she herself was that creature; that she had finally struck. Regardless of truth or accuracy, such presented a problem.

Indeed, she had perhaps underestimated just how…exceptional he was—his tenacity, his spite and utter obsessiveness, his intellect… That man-boy was powerful enough to be dangerous, likewise, although evidently unwise enough not to hold his tongue. Yet what he was going to do next, she knew not.

Mother had kept quiet, offering no instructions. Yet she understood that this could jeopardize; that she needed to handle this. And for too many days she had mulled over the how… This day, she had decided the moment was now. Yet what she was going to do, she knew not.

Such a strange sensation, feelings, inhabited within as Miranda so strolled down the darkened nightly halls; as if encountering an open page in a fable so thrilling, left blank and unwritten, anticipation was filling.

What she did, at least, know this moment was that Swordstaff was alone. Blossom was not with him for once—and those two had been awfully sticky to one another these past many-many days…

Miranda could only feel jealousy—envy—that her friend had stolen her desired prey; that her prey had stolen her only friend. Of course, jealousy was not the most overbearing feeling gnawing within.

Regardless, she had already confirmed that Blossom was asleep in the regular attendant dorms this night, and she had to wait several nights… And just to be sure that he had not 'gotten it down' with another, she had sent a butterfly—one of her own butterflies, which she considered far uglier and more unpleasant than mother's.

Although such did not grant her an extra eye through which she could directly see, she was able to get a sensory 'feel' from it that…he was, indeed, completely alone. And despite his apparent sensitivities, Swordstaff had not been alerted to the snooping apparition—clearly dead asleep.

Finally arriving to a particular hall of many windows so clean, a quietness around, she turned and paused…at that specific door. Miranda stood there, as if thinking or considering, before dimming the oil-lamp in her hand; she so carefully—so quietly—opened that door, stepping in as she equally closed it so.

Almost instantly, there was a shinier shine in her purplish-magenta eyes, breaths heavying with heat, seeing…

There he was, indeed—alone asleep. His little snores and wide-open drool… So defenseless; so innocent… Yet she knew he was quite the opposite—which only made him more…captivating.

She placed the dimmed oil-lamp down near the door and softly approached; she sat herself on her knees right beside his bed and simply…stared, as if a shadow within the darkness.

Despite being what she was all her life, compared to everyone else for whom her picky hunger had priorly targeted, this one…was unlike any other… Miranda had come to realize… The feeling—this gnawing hunger—was different; somehow more visceral… So powerful, indeed, it maddened the mind and subsumed—consumed—passions; to even imagine or fantasize was dangerous.

Quite frankly, she had no idea how she had managed to control it—to tune it out—for as long as she had.

Already, just by plain staring, she was beginning to feel a particular charge—a heating pulsation reverberating from heart to pelvis. Her retracted fangs, tingling, were already beginning to react, a slight salivation spike causing a slim drool.

Truly, the 'scent', the emanence, of his aura… So full and wide; that stream of life. To even 'feel' its 'touch' made her want; it made that which was so rotting deep within desire—an all-consuming needing.

It was, indeed, almost primeval; as if her blighted essence—as if primitive instincts far deeper than her own will—had found more than merely sustenance… For indeed, such an aura, so fat and girthy; such an essence, so filled and dense; had enough for not merely one but two.

Would that her people had not been exterminated, so that she could have been given that 'talk' as to what she was even experiencing.

State of arousal elevating, she was already entering the initial stages without having even done anything to prime. However, Miranda knew…while she was still able to think…that while mother had been silent, mother's expectations remained clear; mother wanted to keep him around longer, she understood. Besides, he was simply too important; a dead maid was one thing, but a drained Berrybottom son…

That would only complicate things further.

She only needed to silence him; to ensure that he was unlikely to talk or squeal… And perhaps the way to do that was to simply make him understand what she truly was.

Indeed… An announcement from her to him. A game to play… A simple tease and nothing more. For, certainly, what a tease he had been. She enjoyed toying with her prey first, anyway.

Breathing out, she thus leaned close to his ear… "Wakey, wakey…"

Ears shivering a quiver, Swordstaff gasped as his eyes sprung wide open; such a pierce reverberated throughout his nerves as if his very essence had shuddered. His head having jerked, her own quickly withdrew, as his neck so turned and his eyes so saw…

That outlined gaze hovering over him within the chamber's darkened shadows, staring.

He instantly froze with a shake in his jaw.

"What… What is—"

"Ah, ah, ah… Shh." Yet Miranda, relaxed and mellow, so pressed her finger on his lips, shushing him. "Tsk tsk. You really know how to tease a girl, Swordy…" Her fingers began to tip toe upon his chest. "A little moon confessed to me, you know? That you've been playing inquisitor; that you figured out a thing or two about me…" She exhaled type of a breath. "Naughty, naughty… You have made things more complicated."

"Ah… Ahah…" Despite being trapped by a nebulous terror within, Swordstaff nevertheless managed to muster a scowling smirk. "So, I was right… I was right… Heh… And you are now not even bothering to hide what you truly are…"

"There is…no point to lick the milk that has been spoiled." Miranda just replied, her voice evidently invested. "We'd never even spoke before, yet from that only one little encounter…" She sighed. "Woe is to me; the inquisitor has found his witch."

"And now I have…confirmation without doubt…" Swordstaff so gritted; "Revealing yourself to me…so brazenly…was a mistake. This will…be your undoing."

"And your mistake was not keeping your tongue in your mouth—wrapped tight." Miranda so replied, her outlined eyes shining… "Talking to other girls about me? Behind my back? To my own friend, even? How rude…" She gave such a disingenuous and condescending face of hurt.

"Yet I lured you out, and this is practically a confession…" He managed a smirk. "Heh… You've done exactly what I wanted…"

"Hm? In order to declare a trap, you need to first set a trap." Miranda merely replied. "Although, speaking of wants," she casually loosened her attire somewhat, "you may have read your way to uncovering some things… Yet so much of me remains covered, your silly eyes unable to even glimpse the best parts…" Unsolicited, she leaned close and stroked his cheek… "I can show you, though…" She went to his ear. "Everything."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

This invasive whisper caused a quiver in his spine, his figure tightening… Terror filled his insides, yet paradoxically he could feel himself becoming slowly relaxed and…almost reciprocally interested.

At Miranda's current stage of arousal, specialized salivary glands—normally passive and subtle—were beginning to produce a heightened concentration of allomones that broadly affected receiver amicability, sociability, reciprocity, hostility, feelings of attraction, and other relevant effects. Likewise, other salivary glands—otherwise dormant—were becoming active, priming more potently affecting compounds.

However, as with that other time, Swordstaff knew that these emerging 'feelings' were not his own; he did not fall into it.

Indeed, unfurling a growl, he managed to grip the creature's hand, squeezing it as hard as he could to make his point so painfully clear. "Do not dare…touch me, vile stalker of night." he so firmly said with a belligerent glare, leaning himself up.

Unfortunately, however, this aggression only made Miranda's fangs tingle, heightening excitement. "Heh…" Indeed, her grin spoke it all.

Impulsively and to his utmost surprise, she pushed him down and seated herself atop his person in an overtly provocative fashion. This sudden move had frozen Swordstaff still once again.

"So domineering," her brightened eyes so pierced, "so aggressive and righteous in your temperament; an ego as inflated as the very lifeforce that streams from your eyes…" She leaned in closer to his face, pressing his chest. "Consider me enticed." She was only barely restraining herself as to not push this further.

He was unable to muster himself to throw this creature off; though, he could at least move his mouth. "Get…off...of me…" he tried to say amidst his closed breaths and grit teeth.

"No…" yet Miranda so replied, finding herself balancing a delicate line. Eyes brightening, her fangs were erecting further from their socket—salivation increasing, exhalation becoming slightly moistier.

Swordstaff was becoming further dazed, his mind—his senses—finding themselves fixating on certain aspects. The radiating warmth of her positioned figure and exhaling breaths; the closeness and intimate proximity. His eyes began to drift more towards particular areas of interest, noticing her loosened attire—a rather deliberately specific manner of loosened that struck a balance between revelation and concealment, stimulating interest while also maximizing dissatisfaction.

These effects were becoming more overpowering, as he found himself becoming increasingly…allured.

"Aha…" Miranda herself was beginning to notice. "Is that an emerging hump I feel?"

At this stage of arousal, specialized salivary glands had transitioned away from ordinary sociability, producing more potent allomones that directly affected interest and drive; additionally, those previously primed salivary glands were now beginning to release explicit aphrodisiac compounds. Microdroplets carried in her breaths facilitated partial transmission through inhalation, although such was not the primary method—to which there were two.

However, yet again, Swordstaff's conscious awareness was enough to mitigate—or at least slow—these effects. He knew there was something with her breaths—her voice, her eyes, her…everything—that was affecting him.

"I am going…to burn you, vampire." he managed to utter underneath his own breaths, resisting; "You will not…walk out of this room… I'll make sure you are ash…"

"Hmm?" Yet Miranda so grinned… "Sayy, wanna know a secret?" She yet again leaned so close to his ear. "You can kill me, burn me with your blue flames, but that won't stop what has been determined; what is in motion… What is going to happen to your house. The chain stretches deep; I'm but a single piece in a greater game."

His breaths grumbled with a scowl.

"What game, you may wonder?" She snickered. "Well, that's our game. You're smart. Keep playing inquisitor; read your books; figure it out—try to stop us, if you can… If you be a good boy and play along, I'll play fair; if you win, you get to keep your house… But if you lose or if you tell anyone else, then I get to have…"

Suddenly, her voice paused. There was a slight gasp as her head pulled back and away, having noticed the shift. And, indeed, she saw…

There was an emerging outline around his own irises, ignition priming; his mouth was so quietly moving, mumbling…

A spell.

He was trying to cast a spell, seemingly—without a wand or staff. It seemed he could cast spellcraft without a paired conduit… Truly, he continued to reveal himself as something. That fact alone was enough to cause a stir, yet the potent sense; the growing intensity of that emanence surrounding him—his igniting soul and responding aura…

Indeed, Miranda's outlined eyes flashed.

"Ah, ah, ah…" So swiftly intercepting, she interrupted his incantation with…

A kiss.

Tongues interlocking, saliva was directly exchanged—or delivered, rather.

Swordstaff's eyes widened, freezing, and not even from just the surprise.

Miranda withdrew her lips, staring him down with outlined eyes that had brightened to a genuine glow, the color having shifted to a primed violet. Her fangs were now fully erected—at their maximum, no longer subtle or contained. Her arousal state had reached its zenith, her salivary composition now at its most affecting potential.

The effects were not necessarily immediate, but they were taking hold.

"I changed my mind." she began to state; "Such a shame, because I was really hoping to first play that game… But… I can't…" Her outlined eyes only turned more violet. "I can't stand this—I can't handle this. I don't care anymore; I am having you tonight." Whatever thin line she had been attempting to balance, she had completely fallen off.

Swordstaff laid there, not paralyzed although heavily relaxed in mind and limbs, yet…energizing everywhere else—a cardiovascular surge. He could feel himself changing—in mood, in perception, in wants and desires; his vision began to tunnel, his fixation sharpening. The flow of his blood shifted south, a burning sensation accelerating and expanding. "What…have you…done…" he managed to utter; "Gods…damnations…to you, fiend…"

"The Gods cannot curse us more than we already have been." Miranda simply replied, both body and essence fully primed.

"I… I am going to burn you alive…in my…flames…" he threatened with grit teeth, yet slowly… "I am going to…tear you…apart… Heh…" His threats were devolving into innuendos, his elevating breaths drifting. "You are so…warm… Hot… I feel…" His words, indeed, were changing their tone. The escalating sensitivity, the burning, the feelings, they were becoming far too overpowering. "Agh! This…feeling is…unbearable! I can't…stand this… I need…you… I need…"

Swordstaff had finally fallen; enthralled, he continued to utter words better left unspecified.

With a smile, Miranda hopped off and stepped back, herself having equally fallen. In a deliberately slow and almost ritualized fashion, she began to undress. Her outlined eyes flickered slight, brightening and intensifying, before…

In a blink, they ignited.

The violet signa engraved so revealed itself for all to see, yet 'sputtered', so to speak, as if the very sigil itself was unstable—an unholy synthesis of the mutually exclusive; a contradiction of alignments.

The alignment sigil only potentized further as she stripped herself bare. The ignition, it almost seemed, escaped her eyes and spilled into her skin. In a flowing pattern, bands of violet glow streamed down her cheeks and her neck, down her torso, curving around limbs and waist; these otherwise colorless and invisible 'tattoos' were only visible during a fully ignited state—a cultural symbolic function rather than practical.

"Hurry up already…" Swordstaff meanwhile was becoming aggravated by his eyes' selective observations. "I cannot bear this…tease—this worsening fire…" He had already hastily prepared himself in the time between.

"Teh…" Her fanged grin was almost wicked. She began to approach, and as she did, such darkly violet radiance began to emanate from her being… Radiance that could hardly be described as 'wispy' or even softly 'dusty', as much as 'choppy' and utterly 'grainy' as if riddled with visual noise; as if its very existence was a struggle to sustain.

For, indeed… Such violet-blighted essence, contradictory and unstable, was in a perpetual state of near-constant decay; a decay that far exceeded its auric replenishment, thus never able to fully maintain a proper or developed aura of its own.

Ultimately driven, it was, by its own desire to persist and survive.

This grain-choppy essence formed concentrated strands and strips, thin and semi-visible, which so bobbed and weaved to Swordstaff's being, wrapping and caressing as if impatient and eager to bite, nipping already.

Abruptly, however, the radiance of her eyes and the glow of her tattoo bands shifted; the ignited sigil 'flickered', her essence momentarily becoming less grainy, as violet flipped to…more a magenta.

An interruption.

"Mother…" Miranda paused, audibly annoyed. "Can't you see I am busy with a boy?" Her voice was almost bratty.

So, this is the option you went with… Unfortunate, although not unexpected. It is useless to attempt to stop what is ultimately base instincts. However, you know the adjusted procedure… Leave the core of his essence intact.

There was a slight grit of frustration. "I want all of him though… Every last drop of his stream…" The magenta only heightened, although even this temporary stabilization was not enough at this stage, for this was no longer simply that hunger.

Do not devour beyond the terminal fade threshold. That is final. He will be left functionally incapable for quite the time, Thus silenced.

"Gugh, fine…" Grumbling, she focused on him, both visibly impatient. "Milk the cow but keep it alive… I remember how to do that. Besides… Being careful means I would have to go slow…" She grinned… "And I would really like to take my time with him, hehe…" There was twitch. "Anyway, I get it! Privacy now!"

The flickering stopped as the stabilizing magenta faded, returning violet decay.

Without further delay, she returned to his bed and situated herself atop his person; positioning, her wide ignited eyes pierced into him with a predacious glint. She gripped his face crudely… "You and I are going to become one, heh, heh…"

Intimacy… Such was an inherently interactive affair—and not only between individuals, but also their essences. For as much as two—or more—participants would…interlock to exchange, so too would their essences 'interlock' similarly to exchange; a 'dance', so to speak, unseen that occurred regardless of activation state or alignment.

And it was this very innate and seemingly universal tendency, this interlocking of essence and so-called 'dance' of auras, that her specific 'kind'—their essences—had become quite specialized at exploiting.

Indeed… With flames barely romantic and more bluntly primeval, she thus quietly indulged, interlocking with him as his essence found itself interlocked in a spiraling 'dance' with her own, auras 'opening' as if to invite exchange's embrace. Yet slowly but surely, one was stripped and stripped… Until it all climaxed into a single bite to the neck, marking the end. An aura extinguished, a drained shell left behind… Yet from which, continued life.

Nature… Truly, a mother so indifferent—vacuous of morals…

It was said that after creation, Nature had instilled into every creature and every beast, into every being and every organism, of all creeds and kinds…the same fundamental motivations and most basic of drives, compelling each into a very simple order of things: to endure her selection's crucible was to persist; to persist was to reproduce; to reproduce was to survive; to survive was to eat. There thus always existed the eaten; there thus always existed the eater. There existed always a prey; there existed always a predator.

This applied to man; this applied to essence.

Quand-que kolaphita élla Çaelestres énspeçhít obtutún Adversaríai suî moríenți, ea én oculois sê vidít; et én oculois ejos síc-quoc sê vidít hoștè. Réalizaront eod momento ģe amphö, quod erant apot terminon infinitați aequalés mețimes exactë… …Et én morte, unè fajjeront.

[And when the struck Celestial looked into the gaze of her dying foe, in its eyes she saw herself; and so too did the Adversary see itself in her own. 'Twas in that moment that the two came to realize; that by the end of all things, they were exactly the same…] […And in death, they became one.]

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