No underage fuckers. Sex is here, well not yet but soon, maybe, actually probably not for a while. This is gay shit, as you have figured out by now. All those other dull warnings. And, of course, DONATE TO NIFTY YOU SNIDY FUCKERS! DON'T BE SO TIGHT, IT DIDN'T HELP THE JEWS. Omg. I did not just write that. No offence, of course. I love jews, personally, but some people... you know... didn't.
Ps. Just so you know, I'm British, so I write the proper and traditional English, not the defiled form in which Americans write. It is realised, not realized. It is splendour, not splendor. You Americans need to learn the right way to write. You can't just steal the English language, change a couple of words, and call it yours. Sorry. No. As you can tell, this is a touchy subject with me.
Anyway, to the story.
The Enchanter's Storybook: Chapter Thirteen:
It seemed so supercilious, in Purgador. Everyone was superior to someone, and there was a distinguished hierarchy that had to be regarded in every aspect of life. Witches were an odd people, Marcus had known that from the beginning. The tales he had heard of their devilish sorcery and their casual frivolity were renowned in the Pass, although some of the details had faded from his mind. Witchkind were somewhat of a nightmare in the Pass, told to be rotten and decaying creatures that could shift between forms in order to lure and entrap victims. They reminded him of Widow spiders, for some peculiar reason or other. But they were nothing like the tales. In fact, they were almost exactly the opposite.The tales told of dark, shadowy cottages surrounded by jagged, dead trees and bogs that swallowed children whole. But in fact witches lived in pointy shards of glossy glass that glimmered under the sun and glistened under the moon, for witches were under the distinct impression that a glimmer was almost the exact opposite of a glisten. And these glass houses were not any regular colour, they were of any and every colour: orange and red, fiery tints that blurred the interior of the shards; cyan and prussian, reflecting some ocean far from the city, or some constellation seen from some point far from the city. More often than not, Marcus would find lilac or purple, and the only excuse that the witches gave him of their obvious addiction to the colour purple was "that it was royal" or "the colour of pure darkness", but Marcus hardly knew what they were on about. Witches were definitely an odd breed, even their accent had a certain zest of splendour that could not be reproached just for being too fruity. That seemed an almost pristine word for witchkind: fruity. Everything about them was fruity, they had a certain juice, a certain citrus. From their clothes to their hair, they were mad in so many ways. Most people see witches as these fat, ugly hags with grey hair and wrinkling, saggy faces, but they were the opposite. Witches were beautiful, even in old age. Their hairs seemed to be of any colour, whether it be as green as grass or as blue as the sky. And, more often than not, Marcus felt uncomfortable just from looking at their revealing outfits. They were so very suggestive. "Marcus, darling! Come, sit here, I insist!" Varia screamed at me, as I stared over the wide-spaced room. It was giant room crowded with people of any and every colour imaginable, but a certain dullness was drilled into the corner where Varia was seated with Darius and Daisy. "What is this?" "The queens enjoy parties such as this," Varia relayed to him. Then there was the matter of three queens. That seemed so odd to him. Witches were either so greedy that they felt they needed three rulers instead of one, or they were so fickle that they could not choose one to solely and permanently rule. Neither were good options, in his opinion. The surface beneath him tapped as he strode over to them, he felt as though the glass floor would crack underneath him and he'd fall into the pit of no return. "The three witch queens," he repeated to himself. It was too odd to him. "Varia, how long does it take for you to tell Lady Grisella that you quit?" Darius asked, sitting opposite her with a sullen and morose look about him. At least he had stopped calling her 'witch', Marcus thought. And then it all came back to him, back in that bath-house, back to their first night in Purgador. They hadn't discussed it, they hadn't felt like they needed to. But maybe they did, because it seemed the oddest thing about the place. They had both kissed, cuddled all night, and acted like nothing had happened ever since. It was kind of mad to him, their entire world was mad. "You quit?" rumbled a low and meek voice from behind Marcus. Slowly, he swallowed and moved aside to allow the elderly, yet strikingly gorgeous woman, to swoop in on their inner circle. Lady Grisella seemed weaker than they had last met, more frail and nimble, like she was ready to drop. The bags under her eyes screamed it to all who looked upon her pugnacious face. "Let us discuss this later, Grisella, I wouldn't want to ruin the splendour of the night," Varia said seductively, her eyes peering suggestively over at Lady Grisella. It seemed so sickening, but every act every witch performed with one and other seemed like a flirt, like they were begging to be breached by the other. Marcus didn't know the ghastly details of sex, but he knew the basics, the ins and outs and suchlike. And that was all he needed to know, really. "Well, I will be sad to see you go. You are the finest in the Guild, Varia. I had hopes of you surpassing me after I am gone. I have not long for this world, you know, I can feel it." "You can feel when you're going to die?" Daisy asked, her face shooting from a relaxed and almost bored expression to one of surprise and even horror. We had all been in Purgador long enough to get use to it all and find the simple flamboyancy of the witch world boring. "I can feel my body decaying around me, I am nearing a corpse. My soul is ebbing, you see. I am lingering, I am a lingerer. Soon, but not yet, trust me, darlings, I'll be in the Ether soon." "The where?" "Hell, dear." "And that's a good thing?" Daisy continued questioning. "Well, I would hope so!" And then she was tottering off with the grace of a dead swan, floating on the black depths of the pond. A silence filled the air then, and Marcus found himself staring at Darius. He was such a good friend to him, eve if what they had was more. But he was so modest, he didn't understand how much Marcus loved him. And he didn't just loved his appearance, he loved everything about him. The good and the bad, if there was anything really bad about Darius. Marcus couldn't think of anything on the spot, so he shrugged and took a seat between Varia and Darius. He could feel the awkwardness around him. "So now that is done, we can go?" Darius asked. Marcus smiled, but only slightly. But then suddenly, the entire room grew quiet. No longer did the witches hush and squeak in all corners, squabbling around in all directions, dressed in all colours. The entire room grew cold and silent, the entire crowd dared not to speak a single word. And the doors blew open, clashing against the walls and shattering into a thousand pieces. The glass shuddered and danced along the ground, sending glitters of light across the ballroom. And purple curtains swayed, revealing three veiled bodies, draped from head-to-toe in shades of purple from lavender to indigo. In fact, as Marcus peered closer at them, they each seemed to wear entirely different shades of purple: the farthest on the left was garmented in a light lavender, the lightest of purples; the farthest on the left was adorned in lilac, the brightest of the purples; and in the centre of the two was an embroiled violet, the darkest of the purples. "Who are they?" he asked idiotically. In the back of his mind, it was clear who they were. They were the three queens of the Witchlands. "Our queens," Varia gasped, dropping to her knees frantically. The entire room fell to their knees, even Darius and Daisy had the mind to. But Marcus lingered standing, and soon, it seemed everyone regained their colourful postures. "Her in lilac, her name is Lilac; her in lavender, her name is Lavender; and of course, her in violet, is so named Violet. It is an old tradition of Witchkind." The three queens proceeded to the very edge of the room, where they regally took their seats on one long, singular, elongated throne. It was more of a sofa, if truth be told. A long, silver-framed, amethyst throne that was bedazzled in black rubies and purple diamonds. The three queens held hands with one and other, and the infamous party resumed around them. Marcus found he could not take his eyes off of them, they intrigued him so. Three queens, one kingdom, yet they ruled so well. And there was no doubt about their power, it was all he had heard the witches boasting of the last few days: how powerful their queens were, how amazing and perfect and beautiful they were. But all he saw were women veiled in purple, faces blurred away from view as if it was a sin to cast your glance upon such godly beauty. And they called him forward. "Marcus!" Varia bellowed. Before he knew it, she was crouching beside him, her lips tickling his ear with their closeness. "Approach them slowly, look at neither of them. Bow as you reach them, greet them, do not anger them!" "But I don't understand," he mumbled to himself. "Why do they wish to speak with me?" Varis stared at him in complete and utter awe, her long red locks dangling around her neck like a tight noose. She pursed her blood-red lips and stuttered, "You are the only exception." "The what?" "The only exception, to magic. Immortality, Marcus. I've told you before, it should not be possible. It is as if you are a god in human form. And your darkness, I have warned you, is beyond belief. It surpasses all kinds of darkness, it is complete blackness." Marcus never understood these witches. They called him a dark soul, a creature with vast darkness and unending blackness, but he wasn't even close to that. He was just that sweet, blond-haired little boy with adorable blue eyes and a body strength that was abysmal. But, without much choice on the matter, he found his feet moving of their own accord. He followed a silky red carpet that proceeded to the very edge of the room, whereupon the three queens stared down at him in complete disbelief. It could have been anger, really, it was hard to tell with their faces masked. He stood there before them, the three most powerful beings in the Known World, and couldn't even find it in himself to blurt out a small 'hello', or even a brief nod. "You know," the queen dressed in Lavender began, the queen of the name Lavender,"it is considered common courtesy to bow before your queen." He could not find it in himself to reply to such a strong, husky voice. It was too domineering, too daunting. No reply found its way to his lips. "Speak, boy!" Lavender screamed. The queen in Lilac, by the name of Lilac, leaned in suspiciously to her sister and whispered dubious murmurs in her ear, Marcus only caught a few words, "Can you sense him?" and "Apparently, this is the boy that gives immortality." Lavender gave a curt nod to her sister and peered at him through the eye-slits in her lavender veil. Marcus could see her purple eyes, dark and terrifying. He couldn't look into them. "And these rumours are true, child?" she asked. Marcus managed to murmur a silent "Yes," before staring idly at his shoes like they were the most interesting thing in the room. "Bring him closer," the silent of the three queens spoke so suddenly. She had a honeyed voice, soft and sweet. Violet. It was a kindly colour, not too pale, nor too bright or dark. It was a perfect mix, a perfect flower, and a perfect smell. Marcus decided immediately that this one was his favourite. "Boy, come," Lavender ordered, snatching Marcus by his wrists and throwing him at the violet Violet. he ignored the brute strength of Lavender and stared idly at Queen Violet. Like a child, she forced him onto her lap. He felt so close to her, she was very cold. And, peaking a look at her eye-slits, he saw her eyes were milky and white, ghostly and blind. Her hands traced over the features of his face. "Yes," she agreed with the structure of his nose. "Mhm," she whispered to his lower lip. "Oh, I agree!" Marcus assumed she had gone senile, but then he remembered the rumours about one of the three queens. It was said she was a prophet, a soothsayer, a swimmer in the sea of what-will-be. Some thought she was a crazed woman, mad and growing madder. But Marcus felt something as she touched him, a tingle. It was not the tingle he had felt when touching Varia, it was deeper and more intense. It held no pain, it was refreshing, almost sensational. He felt her shiver, and knew she was feeling it to. Her fingers retreated from his face and helped him back to his feet. "Well?" Lavender insisted. "It is true," Violet decided. That made him blush ever-so-slightly. "He speaks the truth. His darkness is inevitably black, and he has, on two occasions, gifted immortality upon a mortal. Himself, and Varia." A grumble of roars echoed through the hall, before Lavender called, "Varia!" in a harsh tone and forced the red-head forward. Without a second thought, the lavender queen rose to her feet and approached Varia, digging her hand in her chest and pulling away her heart. She dropped it to the floor and returned to her seat. "She seems perfectly dead to me," Lilac joked. "It is not true." And then Varia rose from the ground, claimed her heart from the floor, and gently encased it back into her chest. The room grew silent with awe. "I told you so," Violet announced. "Very well," Lilac agreed. Lavender spoke next. "Marcus, dear boy, you will not be leaving this city. Go, we will call for you when we see fit to." And Marcus had no choice but to turn around and leave the soiree. He had no idea what had just happened, but he felt like he had been sentenced to an eternity of imprisonment.
Snaps The Storybook, very tightly, to a close
DAAARLINGS! It has been so long, too long! This chapter isn't a very good one, but the next few will be action-packed. Want a peak? Okay. Violet seems the only shred of kindness remaining in the three queens, and while her sisters Lilac and Lavender want to keep Marcus in order to obtain immortal life, she knows how things will end. He becomes a prisoner in the city, but will he be able to escape? Also, I am sorry this chapter had nothing about the boys' relationship, but I am focusing on the problem that they are facing. Next chapter, Marcus will speak with the three queens, he will discuss the kiss with Darius, and they will attempt to leave. But little do they know, the queens Lilac and Lavender want him kept close, so they will have to try harder in order to be free. I know, you all just want the four of them to go off to the fairylands (which are real. I mean, I have a Trollsturf and a Witchlands, and fairies exist in this story! SPOILERS FOR WHAT LIE AHEAD BEYOND PURGADOR! FAIRIES! FAIRIES, I SAY!) but that just isn't happening. Paradise is boring, and Marcus doesn't do boring.
Places Storybook into a small crevice in the wall, where it shall become neighbours with spiders and cobwebs.
Until next time, my precious, effervescing darlings, love the Enchanter.