Night meets Day [Laszlo]

[Siofra]

Fall 40th, 511 AV, Twentieth Bell

It was getting to be quiet, Siofra noted as she stepped out of her room in the Cubacious Inn. Sounds of gentle murmurs from beyond closed doors reached her ears as she quietly made her way down towards the lobby, superstitiously avoiding making sound on the carpeted floors. She acted like it was a game, trying to avoid arousing any eyes to her lanky frame as she attempted to discreetly exit the Inn. Her dark eyes slanted off the ruby of a young albino, the stormy green of some woman, and the amethyst of one of the unmistakeable spider-kin. His sister in species had recently lost her life in a human’s rage. It had been fun to watch and as Siofra’s eyes slipped from his with a quiet smirk she wondered if he had been there to see her beautiful death as well.

With that cheery thought, Siofra slid out of the Inn and into the calm night etched in the silver of Leth’s light. Her eyes immediately fractured as silver became pronounced within the deep indigo irises, shining and glowing eerily as Siofra straightened her tunic and made her way aimlessly down the Alvad streets. She had learned in the twenty days she’d been here that Alvadas had a cruel way of hiding what one sought to draw out a ten chime jaunt into a five bell adventure. It was why she usually stepped out of her current abode with no destination in mind and allowed Alvadas to guide her through itself willingly.

She was curious about what it wanted to show her.

Indigo eyes slipped from the dreary House of Broken Mirrors to alight upon the Sunken Conundrum. That particularly odd library held a certain fascination for Siofra but, since she couldn’t swim, she didn’t dare attempt it’s tantalizing Illusion. Her eyes left the locale and found the House of Broken Mirrors again. Stopping, Siofra examined the imposing residence and snorted derisively, shaking her head at it.

“Not falling for that, y’know.” She addressed the House and the City. Even as she spoke a smile had the edges of her lips tilted up. “Maybe next time I’ll play with you.”

She didn’t know if the city would answer, or if the house would speak to her or appear again, yet she wouldn’t have minded either way. She wouldn’t have noticed a person following her or approaching her as she continued on her ambling, seeking something that could spur her interest even if for just a moment. She didn’t want to be bored after all, and the silent streets were proving anything but fun.

[Laszlo]

Hiding partially beneath his hooded cloak, Laszlo stood quietly in the inn's lobby, waiting in the queue behind the main desk. Once again, he had to speak to the innkeeper about arranging a longer stay in his suite. This was his second extension now; Laszlo had resided in this building for two weeks, and he wasn't sure for how much longer. It couldn't continue this way. This Ethaefal hadn't trekked all the way through the Unforgiven from Kalinor, freezing and wet and miserable for nearly two months, to live out of an inn. Sly, lazy amethysts drifted across the room to spy Seven, seated in the public area of the lobby. He was careful to keep his gaze neutral, knowing what secrets swam in those blood red eyes. Laszlo would change his living situation soon enough. He just needed a little more time to work out the details. He turned back to the window, taking a step forward as the queue shortened. While Laszlo let his thoughts drift onto more mundane things, like money-management and Alvad real estate, he barely noticed the horned woman passing through his peripheral vision. There was an amalgam of races staying at the Cubacious Inn; he barely paid any of them much attention. It was a few seconds later, as his slow and distracted mind began to work out what it actually saw, when Laszlo's violet eyes widened in shock and recognition. His hood was knocked back as the Ethaefal spun in a flurry to get another look at the woman, but she was already stepping through the door. She was…! "Are you ready, dear?" a kind woman's voice called from the counter. Laszlo looked back at her, still stunned, torn between seeing to his obligations and chasing after a woman in a mad craze. Realizing that only one of those two options could amount to anything practical, he sank and reluctantly pulled himself toward the desk. The itch to find that woman, to see her, to ask her who she was, didn't lessen by the time he was finished with his transaction. After Laszlo gave his money to the innkeeper, there was no other thought on his mind: he had to meet her! If she was really an Ethaefal… there was so much he wanted to know about her. Laszlo wasn't alone! Finally, he'd see another of his kind with his own eyes. If the city would let him find her. Rushing through the doors of the Cubacious Inn, Laszlo wasted no time in hurrying down the streets in pursuit. His keen Symenestra vision drank in the ample moonlight and delivered to him a clear and crisp view of the night-shrouded city around him. The city's illusions once again made a joke of the roads, which appeared to be covered in a layer of soft, trim grass that glittered blue under the moonlight. As Laszlo crushed it under boot, it felt as real as anything else. He reached behind his head and retrieved the hood of his cloak, pulling it up and paying no further mind to the grassy roads. There was another Ethaefal the city. Why hadn't he noticed her before? Perhaps she had just arrived? Goddess, he had so many questions. The night wore on, however, and his hopeful energy began to dissipate along with his patience. Thirty chimes went by, he passed a black-varnished building at least twice, and Laszlo spotted no one particularly out of the ordinary in the evening streets. He began to wonder if he'd even seen anything at all. It was only the very moment that he began to give up his effort did this damn city deliver. There she was, outside the House of Broken Mirrors, casually sauntering away from him. Leth painted her form handsomely. She was tall, for a woman, and her hair was short cropped, but her frame was slender and clearly feminine. A pair of twin, golden horns sprouted from her temples, shimmering like fine glass under the moonlight. Laszlo wanted to call out, to beg her attention, but he was too awestruck, too confused, and too hopeful. Stunned, he merely quickened his paces to catch up to her. A lump of anticipation rose in the back of his throat as his addled mind began to piece together what he wanted to say to her. A sudden thought then tempered his excitement. He recalled what Seven had said about a Lethborn Ethaefal called Runas, who had hurt him and his friend Victor. She was insane, Laszlo had concluded, after the halfblood had spoken of what she'd done. Enough so that it had initially soured Seven's own opinion of Laszlo. He narrowed his violet eyes at the back of the woman's head. What if she was like Runas? What if she was Runas? Swallowing, Laszlo realized he didn't care. It didn't matter to him who she was, or what she'd done. He just needed to know her, to understand her. He couldn't pass this opportunity to meet someone who was just as lost as he was, to experience true racial kinship… he had to take this chance. Laszlo reached out and grabbed for her arm, attempting to spin her around. He didn't have the patience for pleasantries, or courtesy. He wasn't letting her slip out of sight again. If she didn't twist away from him, he held onto her firmly, but not painfully, wanting to keep her in place long enough to get a look at her eyes. Her large pupils swam in a lake of indigo, split with shards of silver. "Lethborn," he said to her in a cautious, breathy tone. Laszlo's amethyst eyes wandered to the side, focusing hard on her twisting horns. "Goddess, you are an Ethaefal, aren't you?" Slowly, the grip of his hand loosened and fell away. His arm disappeared into confines of his cloak. "Forgive me, it's just that I've never… I've never met another fallen like myself. This face is a borrowed one. My name is Laszlo. I'm a son of Syna." With the sweep of his hand, he pulled back his hood, as if that'd be of any help. Cool, Symenestran eyes bored down at her, under a shock of shimmering, dark silver hair. Laszlo knew that his countenance was not one that easily represented honesty, but he believed, if she looked in his eyes, that she'd know he was earnest. "Please… you must tell me, when did you fall? Where did you land? How far have you traveled and… what name have you taken?"

[Siofra]

Siofra’s eyes widened inexplicably as fun literally seized her by the arm and turned her around. Claws curled around her arm, attached to thin fingers and a long hand that belonged to that same spider she had glimpsed chimes ago when she had departed the Cubacious Inn. His words were hurried and seemingly desperate, his wide amethyst eyes boring down into hers intently.

If he was lying, he was very convincing. It would have been more likely that he was a sly trick planted by Ionu in Alvadas. He could be an apparition cast by the Broken Mirror House in an attempt to lure her in. Was it really that desperate for company that it would birth a self-proclaimed son of Syna? In retrospect, maybe Lhavit wasn’t so bad after all once one got over the static dreariness of the place. At least the Houses didn’t stalk someone there and plead for friendship.

Yet, what if this was not a lie or an illusion? It had grown cold and silent all around and Leth’s light seemed to be that of a stage, giving clear view for Ionu to watch what Alvadas had managed to do. What if the Symenestra holding Siofra’s arm was indeed a son of Syna, an Ethaefal? All the same, what kind of name was Laszlo? An odd constellation that had to be.

It was then that a slow smile dawned across Siofra’s face and erased whatever doubt she had written there. If this was true and not a clever game, she had finally found one of her own. Far from her birthplace she had been seized by the claws of fate and shown one of her brethren in his mortal form. She didn’t pull from the irresistible grip but she didn’t reach out and create her own connection to him. If she had claws, too, she might have.

“I’ve not met anyone else either, Laszlo.” Siofra said. Her smile was shared between her words and her expression. “To answer your questions, I come from near a city a little further north from Alvadas and I was born this past Spring. You?”

Her eyebrows lifted at her own question to him. Before he replied, she gave him her own name. “I took the name Siofra from an old constellation’s largest star. Where did you take yours from?”

[Laszlo]

She spoke to him. She was real. Laszlo started breathing again as he realized it was his turn to talk. He had just wanted to get the woman's attention, and verify what she was. He hadn't thought as far ahead as conversation. Sweeping his hand through his silver hair and looking downward, he took a stunned step backwards. His violets remained firmly affixed on the road as he angled his body slightly away from her, as if he was suddenly afraid to face her. "A bird," he answered simply as he aimed his quiet stare at the dark, deep green grass. His features relaxed, becoming tame and level, but his large, slightly sunken eyes were still wide with numb astonishment. "I was born off the coast of Syliras, a city across the Suvan Sea. A young girl there called me Laszlo incessantly. Because I'd fallen from the sky, she firmly believed that I was the spirit of her pet raven, returned from the dead. She wouldn't let me disagree with her." A smile ghosted on Laszlo's gray lips. "I suppose I kept the name, because I wished I was him." Taking a few steps backward, Laszlo let himself lean against the exterior wall of the House of Broken Mirrors. Pocketing his hands, he rested his head back and stared upward at the starry sky. One dark gray-blue cloud teased at the three-quarter moon. "That was almost two years ago." With a soft sigh, Laszlo drew his eyes away from Leth's vigil. Brightly glittering amethysts, his eyes searched the air for a short while, sorting through a compendium of his thoughts. Being in the vicinity of another Ethaefal brought him mixed feelings. On the one hand, this was truer kinship than that he shared with the Symenestra. That feeling of belonging and acceptance had always been fleeting and superficial. The Lethborn was truly kin, with deeper ties than any other race could claim. On the other hand… it made Laszlo's imprisonment on this world feel more definite, more real. He really was trapped here, and seeing others sharing his fate just made him feel more dismal. "You're young, like I am," Laszlo said softly, finally moving his eyes to meet hers. 'Young'. As if such a word could be assigned to something as timeless as an ascended spirit. Still, it seemed the best way of putting it. This was easily the first time Laszlo had met someone less knowledgeable and experienced about Mizahar than he was. "I've heard there are Ethaefal who have lived for hundreds of years. Some even remember the later days of the Valterrian. Siofra… do you remember anything? About the ukalas, and your god? Or your name, your true name?" Laszlo's eyes slid away, repositioning themselves on his feet. "They don't understand, these people. Mortals. They don't understand anything. None of them. They don't know where I've been, what I've seen, what hell this is for me. They're too consumed by their lusts, their pride, money, religions, all these little things that don't matter in the greater scheme of things. They're so stuck in their short, fleeting lives, as if this is the time that matters. They never think about their souls." He snorted. "I guess I can't blame them for their ignorance. I've had so many wayward lives. This one,"—Laszlo gestured to himself—"in particular. This one killed innocent women who merely wanted to be loved, so they would bear him sons." He bristled against a flare of guilt for his own hypocrisy. Not so long ago, he had gone to Kalinor to find that life, to be a Symenestra. And never once did he ever fault any of them for what they had to do in order to procreate. It was a solemn practice, necessary for their survival. A wolf must kill a deer to live another day. A Symenestra must kill a woman to create a new life. These were the all-confining laws of the world. A world that Laszlo thought he'd left behind. "I feel like I’m surrounded by children." Laszlo slid down the side of the building he was leaned against, sitting himself down on the grassy street. "I can't fault them for being so needlessly focused on their tedious lives. Still, I… I feel so alone."

[Siofra]

Siofra’s eyebrows rose even higher in incredulity at the response Laszlo gave her, finding him to be named after a bird to be something of a source of amusement. She’d not yet met a person named after a bird, yet at least his name had feeling in it. Siofra was a cold, distant star. Who knew what the person it was named after was like. A feeling of envy suddenly overwhelmed her and she found that rather pointless when she was completely at ease with her own name.

Her smile returned as Laszlo prattled on about his origins and where his name came from, having no idea where Syliras was but starting to get a general idea, since she did understand what and where the Suvan is. It sounded far from where they were now. She at least had the benefit of remaining in her home country. “Why did you leave this girl behind? She sounds like she was attached.” Siofra’s tone had become serious where she would have enjoyed lightly taunting the information out of him. The revelation of his age only caused her to wonder how he could stand being here for so long when he seemed so miserable and dejected. She hoped she wouldn’t sound this way after nearly two years. Mizahar seemed so fun to play in...

Her eyes slanted dispassionately towards her heavenly patron, finding his silver face as distant as it had been the night she was born. Love and sadness pulled on her heart but she discarded them. She wondered what it was like to belong to Syna when looking at her was painful. Did they feel a greater sense of loss?

“My name...” Laszlo’s question had poked at her where she was raw and angry. That sliver of resentment that had been stuffed under amusement and fake laughter for the better of two seasons. What did she remember of her home? Of her true land. Her name, scrawled as though by a divine hand in unfathomable letters that could never, and would never, be replicated in the history of the world. What was her name? It was like the stars and the moon together at once, born in the darkness of the wounds Leth had suffered and cradled in the shadowy arms of the night sky. She couldn’t speak it without mangling it, rendering it vile like the human names she heard every day but would never admit to disliking. “I remember it all, Laszlo. Every bit of it. Do you?” Her question had become pointed. She wanted to know if she’d forget after her first year. Would this world be worth forgetting a divine lifestyle?

“They are children and sheep, lost without someone and something to care for and guide them into a place you and I have seen and lived, tasted, touched. They can’t understand because they are naive. They can’t dream about a beauty they’ve never witnessed. They don’t understand because they are made of things you and I are not. They are intact, Laszlo, and we are broken. We can only create for ourselves a glory here that they can envy and wish to emulate.” Her indigo eyes darkened with her words. Dark thoughts shimmered in her mind and her eyes. What she remembered of Leth, the dark beauty that he embodied, she wished as always to share with the lesser, sadder life. These “mortals”, as Laszlo had so aptly named, were sad and nothing more. Sad, desolate, lost. Whole but unenlightened.

Suddenly, a small smirk danced across Siofra’s pale lips as she once again surveyed the mortal seeming her one brethren held upon Mizahar. A true Symenestra, alive and breathing, stood before her and she was only contemplating teaching mortals the beauty they lacked. She had wished to see one of these with her own two eyes (and not the corpse she had salvaged), and her mind immediately flitted to this, the topic of their lacking forms.

“You and I have something in common, then Laszlo. I may not have killed women to bring me children, but my exhalted ‘normal’ form is that of one of the Dhani. We should compare fangs one day.”

As Laszlo dropped down, sliding down the building to sit, Siofra cast a critical glance towards the House of Broken Mirrors, wondering if it would decide to leave or sit there and listen, plotting their fates in its supposedly fearful mirrors. She doubted it was trying to lure her in, still, but she couldn’t help but be suspicious. The House could get jealous.

Her eyes returned to Laszlo and she dropped down next to him with all the grace of a horse. She wasn’t used to sitting down on anything but a chair these days. She was spoiled. “They are children, Laszlo. Spoiled, rotten, stupid, boring children. I came here to show them how to have fun, how to enjoy their tedious mortal lives so they could enjoy the lives you and I once lived in the Ukalas. However, you are not alone. Nor am I, now that I think about it and have found you.”

[Laszlo]

Her façade slipped. When Siofra stopped to remember her name, whatever mask she had made for herself in an attempt to tolerate the world cracked, and Laszlo could see through it. He kept his sharp, violet stare aimed at her, mesmerized by his moonlit reflection in the tall, rail thin woman. The pain and desolation written on her face were… on anyone else, it might have been worth only a passing glance. A lost lover, a missed opportunity, a lonely existence, these were earthly cares known by anyone. But what he saw on Siofra's face was… it was unfathomable to anyone who hadn't known what the Ethaefal had lost.

Laszlo winced when she looked back at him, the hardness in her indigo eyes pinning him to the wall. Suddenly it was too much to bear to look at her, and he forced himself to look away. "It fades. I don't remember as well as I used to. The memories are… mottled, after a while. Sometimes it's easier to think it was a dream, so that I don't have to know that it was real." Laszlo drew up his knees, giving his long, thin arms something to rest upon. With one clawed hand, he pushed back his silver hair. "But my name… I do remember my name. I'll die before I forget it."

Siofra's bitterness toward others was shockingly familiar. He'd expected to be disagreed with, to be told that they were no different from Laszlo himself, just souls on their endless journey. In his former lives, he'd had family and friends, people to right him when he was wrong, to level him out. In this shell now, he was alone, and there was no one to balance him. Siofra suffered just as much as he did, and while he did take solace in that, he felt a flash of guilt for allowing himself to become to quietly angry.

Had he really become so resentful without noticing?

"I am not broken," Laszlo hissed, baring his teeth in Symenestra fashion. His twin, elongated fangs glinted briefly before he remembered himself, turning his eyes away. "I'm just lost. I'll find my way, if I have to carve my own path. I have a few ideas."

The false spider gave Siofra a half-hearted sidelong glance as she took a seat next to him. Laszlo pressed his clawed fingers into the soft, cool grass, enclosing a few waxy blades between the creases of his knuckles. "I don't know what a Dhani is. Perhaps when the sun rises, you can show me. Then we can compare horns as well."

You are not alone. The words had resonance, and they echoed in Laszlo's ears like a sweet, yet eerie song. Turning to the woman fully, his sparkling amethysts moved over her face, studying every perfect feature. She looked made of porcelain, carved ever so delicately by the gentle swipe of a practiced hand. Perfect, beautiful. Was that really what he looked like to the others who saw him in the day?

Laszlo lifted his hand to Siofra's triangular face, lighting his fingers against the underside of her jaw. He lifted her chin with a whisper of insistent effort, bringing her colorful eyes to meet his. He stared into them for half a moment, absorbing the creature that lived behind them, then adjusted his scrutiny to her sleek, glasslike horns. Laszlo's delicately clawed hand left her jaw to run the pad of his thumb over their smooth structure. "This is real, isn't it? We're truly trapped here."

He dropped his arm, and then ran his hand through his hair again. "Do you have any plans tonight, Siofra?"

[Siofra]

She didn’t want to meet his eyes as she thought about her name and recalled it, vivid in the dark of her mind. She didn’t want to see if he shared her loss or exalted in the fact that it stung her to remember something so beautiful in a place where beauty could only be fleeting. She missed her home and the dark, eternal splendor there.

Her eyes sharpened again, the dark indigo overwhelming the splintered quicksilver as Siofra pondered over Laszlo’s words. What he said troubled her, made her doubt her own resolve to not succumb to the breathless sleep that beckoned to her in Denval’s waters. She couldn’t bare the thought of thinking her life had been a dream, a shadow play. It would have to claw its way out of her mind for her to let go and become miserable and lonely like her sunny new friend. However, she shared Laszlo’s sentiments about his name. She too would rather die than forget who she was.

Her eyes suddenly glittered at the hiss of the Symenestra man that Laszlo wore with such finesse. A curl of fear in the pit of her stomach dissipated as she saw the extended fangs and yearned to reach out and seize his jaw so she could examine what nature had felt fit to give the pale spiders of Kalea. He turned his eyes from her again, however, and Siofra felt a thrum of anger at herself for not acting. His words enticed her back into the rhythm of conversation and she summoned a smile to hide whatever darkness she had collected from her time under Leth and above Semele. She was dark as Leth was, she hoped.
“There is always hope for those like us.” She murmured softly after Laszlo had spoken. Hope was something she was unsure of. Fleeting and short-lived. She didn’t continue to exist with the hope of finding her way home. She existed with the belief that she would find her own place in the world and make a new home close to where her deity brushed the world. She found the bitterness of Laszlo’s words endearing, yet in her thoughts she dismissed that. He still sounded sad and hopeless, lost and miserable. He needed to smile and enjoy himself. “Maybe your mother and my father will come and retrieve us…” She suggested this half-heartedly. If she hadn’t been given the blessing of seeing Leth yet in the flesh she doubted she ever would.

Suddenly another smile flitted across her lips as the topic lingered on their races. She’d probably startle him in the morning if she showed him her forms. His expression was well worth it… as was the thought of being able to see what form he held during the hours of Syna’s dominion. He would be beautiful like the rumours of the Syna-born said.

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t like what I can become during the day, Laszlo. Like Symenestra, the Dhani possess something that sets them apart from humans other than their fangs.” She smirked at the thought of comparing horns, excited like she had never been before for the chance to see the only other Ethaefal in the world.

His touch eased the smirk off her face almost immediately. It caused her breath to catch and her heart to flutter in shock. Whatever pale colour in her face faded at the sheer intimacy his soft, fragile hand wielded as it cupped her chin and brought her eyes inexplicably to his. She held still, staring into his eyes with the intent to skewer his soul and see what it was he sought in hers. His eyes lifted away and the connection was lost, his hands drifting aside to touch the senseless curve of her jade horns. Her fingers knotted in the grass as he again spoke, subdued now.

“There is always hope.” She replied to him ever so quietly. It was like the man had woven some sort of spell with his intense gaze. She didn’t want to break it. It was too familiar and raw and she sought to capture it and hold it dear. It was like the kinship she had once had in another time. She didn’t want to lose this, yet with his next question the fleeting impression had escaped her.

“I have none currently, Laszlo. I had planned on seeing what Alvadas wanted me to do tonight but all Alvadas has given me is the watchful House over there.” Her face turned and she gestured to the house that had remained static while the streets changed. “Did you have any plans before we met?” Her fingers worried themselves in the grass as she urged them to keep off of his form to explore what Symenestra had when they were not broken and dead. His hair alone had a curious texture under Leth’s vigilant illumination.

Siofra clutched the grass expectantly.

[Laszlo]

Maybe your mother and my father will come and retrieve us…

The side of Laszlo's pallid face twitched in a spasm of restraint, his weary amethyst pools sliding from one corner of his eye, keeping them angled to the ground. He could correct her, but chose not to. Laszlo had once thought as she did, that Syna would reach down from the sky and somehow scoop him back up and bring him to where he belonged. Then a season passed, and a year. Laszlo learned of other Ethaefal who had lived for centuries. If Syna or Leth hadn't come back for them after waiting that long…

He no longer had the energy to believe his goddess would rescue him. Only to fervently convince himself that she couldn't.

"I don't care what form you take in the day, Siofra." Laszlo turned to her again, soft strands of silver barring his cool purple gaze as he held her eyes in his. The corner of his lips turned in a slow, solemn curve. "I know what you are. Any earthly shape you become will fall short of your divinity. You are perfect and pure, and I will only see that when I look at you."

Let the girl believe there was hope. Laszlo would not be the one to crush her, to act as gravity's cohort and pull her down to the earth. She would learn harsh truths on her own, as he did. Already, her bitterness and disdain for the world around her had seemed to infect her sanity. Laszlo wondered if that was how he seemed to other people who knew him.

Rolling forward, Laszlo pushed himself his feet again, shaking the grass and dust from his wool cloak as it fell around his slender frame. For a lingering moment he stood there, surveying the glittering grassy streets under the twilight. Siofra had asked him a question, but he felt his answer was too simple to give; no. He had already seen to his business that evening, the rest of it was simply finding her. Instead, what the Lethborn had said to him left him intrigued.

They had arrived at the House of Broken Mirrors, yes. The both of them, Night and Day, stood as inverted reflections of each other. Alvadas had a sense of humorous romanticism tonight, bringing the two creatures together in front of this unsettling place. Siofra was wrong about one thing.

"The city did not bring you the House of Broken Mirrors," Laszlo speculated, smoothly turning toward her as he ran his eyes over her thin, lissome form. "The House brought you here, and brought me to find you. Alvadas is a wicked, wonderful place."

Laszlo had thought of offering to walk her back to the Inn, or to take her for a drink at the Withering Rose. Yet as he lingered on this idea, he dreaded the thought of their continued conversation. Her misery bled into his, and reminded him of the melancholy of his existence. He couldn't stand it, to see someone suffer as he did. Nor could he stomach the thought of leaving her here. She was beautiful and transcendent, in a way no other mortal could be. They served opposite gods, yet were the same in essence: a perversion of the brotherhood and unity they'd known in their ethereal existence. In this moment, Laszlo couldn't think of being without her.

Parting his cloak, Laszlo extended an arm to Siofra, offering his open hand and their elegant, elongated fingers, tipped in strong, onyx claws. "There is hope in the pleasures we can find in this earthly prison," he cooed to her as he took her careful hand, and pulled the woman to her feet. Never did he move his eyes away from hers. "I'm exhausted Siofra. Exhausted from breathing day after day after day, watching the sun rise and set and rise again. I've been so alone here, walled in by ignorance and indifference."

Without releasing her hand, Laszlo employed his second arm, running the backs of his soft, fragile fingers along the curves of her jaw. He stepped forward, urging her backward until she was pressed against the wall of the House of Broken Mirrors. How well they reflected each other now, two lithe creatures of grace and darkness in wordless intimacy. Laszlo looked between her shining horns again in silent amazement, then watched himself in Siofra's eyes.

"Give me a reason to continue," he begged her, his honeyed voice barely more than a breathy whisper. "Give me something more than the world can offer."

Leaning in, the Symenestra closed his lips against hers.

[Siofra]

Her eyes resolutely held the lavender eyes that bore into them. Insanity on her behalf tucked away behind her still facade, once again safely protected and cradled. It was all she had of herself. She wouldn't allow his eyes to see it.

The Symenestra's silken comment left a stain of colour along Siofra's cheekbones. Was he aware of his words or was he speaking his mind without restraint? Did he not know what he looked like?

A thin hand rose to touch a gaunt cheek. Humans would see a Symenestra as an ugly, crude creature made in their likeness by a sick God. Siofra could see otherwise. Laszlo wore his Symenestra body with all the grace and elegance a Symenestra would bear himself. As her fingers curled along his cheek, brushed gossamer strands the colour of cobwebs, she wondered what it was like to be both beautiful and ugly.

She released his face, her fingers curling in on themselves. Her dark eyes watched him, the silver tucked away beneath the veil of her unwavering emotions. She watched him rise, unspeaking, wondering what secrets he held in his eyes as he spoke such sweet words. He offered her his hand and, wondering what he wished from her, she took it.

Such a fragile hand. Soft and firm, tipped with black hooks. They were both so fragile, although of different varieties. He was made the way he was by a cruel whim; he could not choose his host body just as she couldn't have chosen hers. She, however, chose to become the way she was. She didn't have it in her to become anything better. Her body had diminished as time wore on and she grew brittle. Leth had watched on as she wore her body into the stick figure she was now.

His claws, like that dead body's, had such an unusual texture. So frail looking, like the thin hand they were attached to, yet strong. Unbreakable. It was a fitting contrast.

And then Laszlo's voice broke through her careful examination of his form. His voice was gentle and crooning. It transfixed her. If Siofra could believe his words, could revel in their meaningless lilts and whispers, she might have pitied him. She might have felt compassion stir within her and she might have tried to comfort him. She might have tried to understand, to see past her own veil at the world and realize the way they were viewed. She felt a sense of loss at her own lack of emotion but shoved it under her facade, forgetting it in the moment with the intent of recalling it during the sleepless hours after all was silent.

Her pale lips parted as though to finally allow her voice to break her silence. She inhaled as though to speak, to attempt to console him and ease what emotion he felt that had his voice desperate and needy. Her attempt failed to come to fruition, however, for his lips had descended to hers. It was with that small, intimate movement that Siofra finally felt.

She felt something stir under their contact, something she had not known existed until his sugared words cooed to her. She fought to capture the moment, cage the emotion, before it was swallowed by the ever-hungry darkness that had consumed every strong emotion before it. The black void that would consume it as it tried every night to consume her tinted the edges of the sensation of his lips to hers. She didn't want to succumb to it and so she pushed for more.

A pale hand lifted, sliding along a sharp cheekbone and curled into silver strands of hair. Fine silk brushed along her fingertips, tangled into them, as she responded to his touch with her own. Still, it was not enough. It threatened to fade, to be boring. She needed more, she needed to feel what he was trying to get her to feel. It was in desperation that she delved into that steady flow of djed she'd left untouched and connected it to her sense of him. She prodded and pushed, placed in his psyche a soft insistence.

More. It said.

[Laszlo]

A slender, feminine hand passed along the side of his face and tangled itself in Laszlo's thin, graphite tresses. The sensation of foreign fingers pressing through his hair sent shockwaves of tingling warmth through his tall, slight frame. His eyes fluttered shut as he drank in her reciprocation, sliding one clawed hand around her miniscule waist and squeezing her soft, yielding flesh through her clothing—much softer than Ambrose had been. This small realization made Laszlo shiver.

The woman was so much smaller than he was: almost as tall, but much lighter in build even if Laszlo was presently a Symenestra. Her hand had so readily surrendered to his, and her arm had been so easy to move when he'd encouraged her to step back. Siofra seemed so… pliable, so easy to physically control. Laszlo wasn't sure why, but that concept seemed to light a new flame in him.

He wanted to control her, to move her, or hold her still if he wished. Already she was pushing back against his kiss, returning his attentions without argument. She liked it, and he wanted her to. Laszlo found basic pleasure in it, but there was also a certain gratification in knowing he'd won her consent.

Laszlo tore his lips away when he quickly realized why. It was the Symenestra in him, preying on the woman, motivated by sheer instinct.

Again, he was predatory.

For a short moment, he hesitated, looking away as he second-guessed his decision to kiss the woman. It wasn't as if he meant her harm; his intentions were for their mutual benefit. Still, the memory of injuring the fisherman's daughter haunted him, especially now. Even if Siofra was above that, being a fallen of Leth who understood Laszlo as only an Ethaefal could, perhaps he had been too hasty. He should—

More, he thought, so powerfully that it made him gasp. Then suddenly his heart was racing.

Evidently his sense of logic and his Symenestran lust were two separate entities.

Laszlo looked at Siofra again, his mouth still ajar from their intimacy, muted passions playing in his violet gaze as he stared at her from under his lowered brow. He was startled by the hunger that swam in her dark eyes. Siofra's thin, pale lips were parted in a silent plea. Don't stop, she seemed to beg.

If Laszlo were in his right mind, he might have realized as a capable Hypnotist that Siofra had woven that tiny thought with djed and implanted it in his head. If he were in his right mind.

Without waiting another moment, the Symenestra pressed forward with sudden passion, entrapping Siora's willowy body between his and the building behind her. He reunited their kiss with renewed vigor. The bony, clawed fingers of his left hand closed around her shoulder to keep her still, while its companion at her waist began to massage upward along the contour of her side.

Minding the potential danger of his newly lengthened fangs, Laszlo slid his lips away from hers, uttering a low growl and a hot breath into neck. The soft rims of his mouth pressed into her skin as his tongue grazed its salty flavor.

In the shadow of the House of Broken Mirrors, the two of them held each other in the quiet of the night. The grassy street was serene and empty, but for the two fallen Ethaefal finding comfort in one another's company. They appeared as barely more than shadows, hidden from Leth's neon view. Yet, Alvadas being the ever vigilant watcher that it was, Laszlo couldn't help but feel as though they weren't alone here. The insecurity nagged at him, even as he began attempting to slide up the fabric of Siofra's tunic.

Laszlo didn't want to stop. All his frustrations were pouring through his affections, his deeply held anger and resentment loosing from the bonds of practiced repression and surfacing as a powerful desire. Even if this wouldn't solve anything, even if Siofra's misery only exacerbated his own, this feeling of release was too pleasurable for him to care.

One of his thighs threaded between hers and pinned one of her legs aside. That was when he began to slow down. Laszlo lifted his hand from her tunic, which slithered back down after he pulled a snagged claw free from its cotton snare. He pulled back, breathing heavily in a slight pant, but had no intention of letting Siofra think that his craving for her had diminished. With the side of his thumb, he traced a teasing line over the outer curve of her breast, the gridwork texture of her clothing guarding what lie beneath it.

"I…" he spoke in a heady sigh, his violet eyes resting at the base of her thin neck. "I've never… never really felt like this, with anyone."

Well, there was Ambrose, but he'd been the one to make the approach, to assert control. Laszlo had happily surrendered to it in ecstasy. As a woman, Siofra was different to him. Laszlo wanted to be the one in charge this time. He wanted her under him.

"Please, stop me if this is too much. Tell me I'm going too fast and I'll slow down. I don't want to force you into anything." He almost did want to. "I wouldn't. Just tell me to stop."