The Silver Sphinx

 

“I wanna taste you, but your lips are venomous poison.
You're poison running through my veins.”

from “Poison”

 

First Guild Day of Decadre, 126 HR

Sarin paused as he passed the mirror in the living room of the family quarters. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The room was quiet, the light dim and the mirror, an old heirloom from his homeland of Iironda, looked the same as always: a carved frame of dark wood, its edges worn smooth from years of use. And yet, something felt strange. Something didn't fit ... Sarin raised his hand. His reflection hesitated. Not for long, not even for a blink of an eye. It was just a tiny break in the movement, so fleeting that he almost missed it. As if the mirror had hesitated to follow him ... Sarin lowered his hand. The reflection did the same, simultaneously this time. He frowned and stepped closer, leaning forward a little to examine the mirror glass more closely. The surface was smooth and cool. His breath didn't fog it up ... Then there was the uncomfortable feeling of not being alone. Only a second later did the image in the mirror become visible. Someone was standing behind him. A figure, not sharply defined, more like a thought that had come too close. But no horns, no wings ... just a silhouette, dark against the dim light.

Abruptly, Sarin spun around. The room was empty. When he turned back to the mirror, there was nothing to be seen there either. Only himself. Just as usual, except perhaps for a little more gray at the temples. He took a slow breath and told himself that exhaustion did strange things to perception. And he had certainly been exhausted in recent days, after everything he had been through. Nevertheless, he was on his way to his office. There were a few urgent matters that had been left undone and that he had to take care of. And perhaps it was a good opportunity to return to his everyday life as a factol and worry less about his soul and Red Shroud. So he walked resolutely past the mirror and opened the door connecting his private chambers to his study. He closed it gently so as not to wake his younger children, who were already asleep at this hour.

Then he took a seat behind his desk. He let his gaze wander slowly over his documents and nodded with satisfaction. Everything was as it should be. The wood reflected the warm glow of the light crystals, and there were the all-too-familiar edges and small notches of the desk that had once belonged to Factol Arella Silvergaze. The codes of law of the city of Sigil and a few letters lay still exactly where he had left them. The smell of parchment, paper, ink and sealing wax was pleasant and soothing, conveying a sense of security, order and control that had just slipped away from him in front of the mirror. Most recently, he had written a letter here to Terrance, Ambar, Erin, Rhys, Hashkar and Mallin to inform them that he did not bear a demonic mark of possession. That was the truth, as Archbishop Juliana had assured him. But the truth was also that she had sensed a kind of echo of the kiss, like a shadow on his soul.

However, he had not mentioned this fact in his letter to his colleagues. Not because he distrusted them. Surprisingly, he had realized that he did indeed trust them all in this matter, however different their philosophies might be. No, he had kept it to himself because even Juliana could not say what exactly this shadow was and what effects it had. However, she had been certain about what it did not mean: that Red Shroud could see through his eyes or hear through his ears. Or that she could influence his actions. That was the most important point; everything else he would have to figure out for himself. He reached for his quill and dipped it in the inkwell to write some instructions for Amariel for the next day. But he noticed not just the smell of the ink. There was something else, a strange scent of ash and warm stone. And there was something sweet in it, like roses, but heavier, too dense ... When he looked up, Red Shroud was sitting opposite him. Not on the guest chair, but on the edge of the desk, right where he usually placed his two scimitars.

She tilted her head slightly and looked around the room with interest, like someone assessing something that will soon belong to them. Then she looked him over - with the same gaze. “You should have locked up,” she said in a velvety voice.

He stood up, pushing his chair back noisily. “Get out.”

She smiled, obviously amused, and didn't move. Instead, she reached out and ran her fingertips across the desk. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if she were tracing a boundary. “You thought it would be over,” she said softly. “That such a brief moment would leave no trace. Yet, it's not how long the moment is that matters, my dear Sarin ... but how intense.” She leaned forward, and more clearly than he wanted, he realized that she was wearing only gauzy black silk. “And for you, the moment was very intense.”

“You forced me,” Sarin replied brusquely. He wanted the words to stand between them, cold and sharp as a blade. But he felt his heart beat faster as he looked at her.

Red Shroud laughed, deep and velvety. “I gave you a choice.”

He felt shame rising within him, but fortunately it was immediately replaced by a hot, flaring anger. “No,” he protested vehemently. “You didn't!”

He felt a telltale heat beneath his skin. A surging sensation he knew all too well. Abruptly, he turned away and went to the window. Outside, it was dark, the Lady's Ward lying silent and indifferent to the events above in the Griffon Tower of the Barracks. Sarin took a deep breath to ground himself ... When he turned around again, she was standing behind him. Too close. Her body wasn't touching him, but he could feel her warmth, her breath and once again he noticed the scent of ash and roses, mixed with something metallic. She was still giving him space, just enough to maintain the illusion of control.

“And yet you are here,” she said. Her golden jewelry shimmered in the glow of the light crystals on her reddish skin, the rubies like drops of blood. “Not because I'm calling you. But because a part of you longs for me.”

Her mere presence was overwhelming. Then her hand slid onto his shoulder and from there to his chest. There she left it, right where his heart beat.

Sarin closed his eyes. “Go.” He could have pulled away from her. This time he wasn't chained to a pillar. And that made it worse. Because when he opened his eyes again, he hadn't moved. He raised his arm and reached for her hand on his chest, not knowing whether he wanted to push her away or hold her tight. Her skin felt warm and velvety under his fingers. The scent of ash, roses and warm blood was so intense that it clouded his mind.

 

 

Red Shroud's other hand rested on his hip. “You want peace,” she whispered. “I'm the only one who can give it to you.” The hand he was holding slid higher, up to his cheek.

Sarin didn't hold her back. He hardly noticed that he was unconsciously leaning towards her. Part of him screamed that he should break free. But the voice was quickly drowned out. Suppressed by another part of him that remembered what he had not wanted, but what had been indelibly burned into his memory. The hatred was there, without a doubt. But underneath it was something else. Desire ... Red Shroud looked up at him. Her eyes were dark red, calm, knowing. She smiled, not mockingly, but with a quiet triumph. Sarin leaned forward. Slowly, but fully conscious. This time it was not coercion, and he knew it. His lips touched hers, cautiously at first, tentatively. But when she returned the kiss, something inside him broke free. It was like a dam breaking, sweeping away all control and restraint. Firmly, he grabbed her waist, demanding, and pulled her closer to him. A burning desire flowed through him, just like back then in the naga palace. The kiss deepened, became more intense, more passionate. Red Shroud had one hand on his neck, the other on his belt. Her presence filled the room, eliminating everything else. He knew he would hate all of this later. He knew it as he kissed her, and yet he did not stop.

Only once did he break away from her lips, just for a breath. “My heart does not belong to you,” he gasped out.

“Oh, Sarin.” Her voice was deep, velvety and heavy like dark wine. “It will.”

 

 

When Sarin awoke, he was sweaty and breathing rapidly. It took him a few seconds to realize that it had only been a dream. Red Shroud was not here. Nor was he back in the Opal Tears Palace. Everything was fine, he was home ... Only then did he look to the side, slowly, almost hesitantly. Faith was lying next to him, asleep. She was breathing evenly, one arm loosely draped over the pillow. A strand of her dark hair had fallen across her forehead. She looked peaceful. Oblivious. Sarin forced himself to breathe calmly. The room was dark, only a narrow strip of light falling through the gap in the curtains. Everything was as usual, everything seemed familiar. And yet it felt as if something alien had been here. He felt the poisonous sting of remorse. He could still sense the reverberations of the dream, the cruel echo of closeness and surrender. Faith stirred quietly, murmuring something incomprehensible in her sleep, pulling the blanket up a bit. Her movements were so familiar that it almost took his breath away. He knew each of these little gestures. His hand lay between them on the mattress. He slowly withdrew it, as if he had touched something that did not belong to him.

“It wasn't real.” He didn't just think the words, he whispered them so he could hear them, so they would gain weight.

Yet his voice was little more than a whisper. Faith didn't hear him. She continued to sleep, unsuspecting, untroubled in a peaceful state he couldn't share at that moment. He sat up slowly, careful not to move the mattress too much. Every breath felt too loud. Gradually, his disorientation gave way to another feeling: guilt. How could he have done something like that, even if it was only in a dream? Of course, it was Red Shroud's influence. Part of him knew that. Terrance had warned him on the way back from the Opal Tears Palace that such dreams might occur. Juliana had said so too. It was a common but mostly temporary aftermath of a succubus kiss. Still, he felt as if he had betrayed Faith. It felt so profoundly wrong to dream of Red Shroud while the woman he truly loved, and who loved him, slept unsuspectingly beside him. He got up quietly. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore that night. Before leaving the room, he looked back once more. Faith had turned to the other side, her face relaxed. Sarin lowered his gaze. What he hated most was not the fact that he had had this dream. But that it had felt good.

 

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Of course, I had Alice Cooper's “Poison” in mind when writing this chapter.