Closed Twin Daisies Dance

[Matthew]

Matthew slipped a hand in hers, lacing the fingers and using the hold to gently guide her along. It continued to serve the double-purpose of claiming her as his own, quietly alerting any watching eyes that they were indeed a couple. He took his time leading her through the shelves, showing her the different sorts of topics that the library covered. There were books on quite a few things, and Matthew felt some level of pride that his home city contained such things. Books were rare, and the fact that the University had so many in such good condition was really a blessing. Just like Oriah couldn't help but touch some of the bindings, Matthew reached out and touched a few as well, tracing a single well-kept fingernail down the leather and paper bindings. Distracted by her question, he turned his head and gave a short nod, right as another nearby candle snuffed out. He shivered, but was so distracted that he didn't really notice. It had been cold outside, so part of him just automatically assumed he had carried the chill in with him. "I have indeed. There are books on seduction, as well as a few other things I am studying. My focus of education is medicine, so I have come here before to indulge in that. Sometimes I just come in here to pick a random book. I learned about chickens a few days ago. Perhaps after I learn everything there is to learn about seduction, I'll become a chicken farmer. It would be an interesting trade. I wonder if there is a supply and demand for poultry." Matthew's gaze turned distant as he glanced around, his head obviously going somewhere else. It would sound comical from anyone else, and perhaps it still did to Oriah. Matthew had a way of talking about the silliest topics with a completely straight face. Another candle snuffed out nearby, and Matthew's gaze sharply focused on it. He stared at it for a few short moments and then turned his head to Oriah, offering her a polite smile. "Want to get in trouble?" He tugged her along, not waiting for an answer. They were a bit far from the main crowd now, and seperated by one or two bookshelves. He led her further and deeper into the library, until they came to a small staircase that led to the second floor. The staircase was blocked by a single rope, signaling that they shouldn't trespass. The library rarely had to worry about someone trying to sneak up to the second floor when the librarian was on duty, but luckily for the two of them, the librarian wasn't on duty. "Books on magic are up here. Not that I want to sneak up there and read them. I just want to sneak up there because... because. Because we can." It took a lot for him to feel excited, or at least he thought it did. Then again, sneaking into the second floor of a library wasn't the most rebellious thing in the world. There was the faintest flicker of a boyish gleam deep within Matthew's eyes though, signaling that something did lurk underneath that professional facade of his. Before they slipped past the rope and up the velvet stairs, Matthew paused, running his eyes over Oriah, noticing her own chill for the first time. "Are you cold? We can go fetch the jacket, or I can do what I can to warm your shoulders." He would politely wrap an arm around her shoulders if given permission, hopefully transferring over some sort of warmth. Either way, he would soon guide her up the stairs unless she balked, leading them into yet another maze of dusty old tomes and shelves, these much less used than the ones on the first floor.

[Oriah]

Oriah held back a rather unladylike chortle of surprised laughter. Chickens? How blessedly odd and fascinating all at once. It only seemed apt that, if there was anyone in this world who could give equal consideration to both harlotry and chicken farming, it would be Matthew. She told him as much.

"Medicine and chickens," Oriah mused, unable to restrain a mirthful grin, "You, my friend, are something else entirely."

She jumped a little as another candle inexplicably snuffed itself out. Perhaps, the Benshira hazarded, they were a...safety measure, for the books. Goodness knows, it would be a terrible tragedy if even one candle should tip over in the unattended portions of the library. Weak candles. Purposeful. Yes, makes sense.

At least, that was what she told herself. Matthew, on the other hand, seemed absolutely unfazed. "Want to get in trouble?" he suggested with a polite smile.

Before Oriah could utter a reply, his hand tugged at hers and they were diving even deeper into the library. It was much, much chillier now, and it was all the girl could do to keep her teeth from chattering.

Soon they reached a small staircase with a rope barring its access. It wasn't a very good way to keep people out, Oriah noted to herself, though she doubted many would venture this far to begin with. Then Matthew explained that there were books on magic up there and the Benshira found her interest piqued.

"Not that I want to sneak up there and read them," he stated, "I just want to sneak up there because... because. Because we can."

There was a glimmer in his eyes, something the perfectly rational young man rarely seemed to display. He looked more...alive, boyish, even, and it seemed as good a sign as any. Oriah considered this, and his reasoning, for a moment before her grin from earlier slowly returned.

"Just a little peek," she whispered, "no harm done. Because we can!"

Matthew then asked if she was cold, and if they should fetch a jacket. She shook her head fervently, not wishing to ruin this moment of camaraderie, and sighed a little in relief as he put a warm arm around her chilled shoulders. Together, they climbed up the stairs, the squeak of older floorboards and their breathing the only sounds to be. Oriah had to hold up one side of her dress, fearful of tripping in such close quarters.

Once they reached the second floor, she shivered in anticipation and a hint of fear. It was dark here, and dusty. Perhaps they should have taken a candle with them. She sneezed once, though from the dust or the cold she was hard pressed to tell.

"This is amazing," she said in a hushed voice to Matthew. "Is magic so dangerous that people must be kept from coming up here?"

Somewhere, she thought she heard the faintest of moans. The wind, she told herself. Definitely the wind.

[Matthew]

The young man gave her a half-smile, that familar look of confusion lighting his blue eyes. "Something else? Am I?" He gave a slow nod, trying to act as if he understood, but he didn't understand at all. He was familar with this sensation though, and it didn't bother him as much as it used to. Her shoulders were chilled to the touch, and with a small frown he gave them a bit of a rub. It hadn't been that cold closer to the University doors, so why was it so cold deeper inside? He was noticing it too. He continued to rub her shoulders as they asceneded the stairwell, glancing around at the bindings of old tomes kept in dozens upon dozens of bookshelves. He reached out a hand as if to brush a finger across them, but didn't dare touch. They would already be in trouble if they were found up here, so there was no reason to further break the rules. Matthew put some effort into moving silently and slowly so he wouldn't be heard, keeping away from the balcony so he wouldn't be seen from the second floor. Her question caught his attention, and he gave a slow shrug of his shoulders. He glanced down at his feet, focusing on moving one foot slowly in front of the other, trying to avoid floorboards that looked creaky. What did creaky floorboards look like? By the way that one or two of his choices let out loud groans, he obviously had no idea. Wincing from the sudden noises he sometimes made, he glanced back over to Oriah. "I have dabbled, as part of my University studies. By dabble, I mean read. One doesn't dabble in magic, from what I understand. You either keep away, or you give yourself to it. When I read about it, I felt the pull. The allure. Who wouldn't want to break the laws of logic with magic? There is a cost, though. There is always a cost. The professors at the University will be quick to tell you that." He looked disturbed for a moment, then turned them both so that they could explore down a different section of the bookshelves. Matthew let out a small noise of surprise that sounded strangled, attempting to stifle the sound almost the minute it came out. The two of them had nearly ran into a little girl, and Matthew's arm tightened around Oriah's shoulders to help bring her to a stop as well. The little girl was dressed in a beautiful but simple blue sun dress, something that helped her fit into the crowd of people that were currently occupying the library. She had gorgeous long blonde hair that almost touched the floor, though the little girl wasn't that tall herself. She just stood there, curiously staring up at Matthew and Oriah, her head tilted to the side. Matthew blinked down at her, noting that the edges of her figure were... blurry. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he then slowly offered the other hand down to the little girl. "Hello. Are you lost? You aren't supposed to be up here." The little girl took Matthew's hand with a smile, her touch absolutely freezing. A visible shiver ran through Matthew, but he held on. She stepped closer to the two of them, tilting her head in the other direction, her voice a near-whisper. "Then why are you two up here?" Matthew paused, brow furrowing. The child had a point. This is why he didn't like children. Too clever for their own good.

[Oriah]

It was hard work keeping her feet quiet as she trailed behind Matthew, her shoulders still warm from his gentle ministrations. Even with her years of training, it was a tricky business, placing herself against the floorboards so they didn't whine in protest under her weight. It wouldn't do if she slipped up and made enough noise to attract attention and thereby cause her companion a world of hassle. So, she took up the task with intense determination.

With half her attentions devoted to treading in silence, she listened as Matthew explained the nature of studying magic. Oriah shivered a little when he mentioned magic's cost, and it was no product of the growing chill.

Most days, she thought little of the intricate imprint of wings spread across her shoulders and back. Out of sight, out of mind. What's more, there were rarely any threats in her daily life, even within sprawling cities, that required Yahal's favor to be sparked. The Benshira steered clear of more infamous cities, such as Ravok and Sunberth, which lessened such dangers even further. But, her efforts were never perfect. And it seemed fate always had a mind of its own.

On the handful of occasions her mark had flared to protect her, she never failed to feel surprised. Oriah had been lucky so far; those who had approached her in the past wielding darker arts and divine favors were novices at best. If she had encountered a master or priestess...well, she likely would not be creeping around in a dusty, forbidden floor of the library.

A startled gasp from Matthew jolted her out of her thoughts. Oriah nearly yelped in surprise herself, but stifled it in the nick of time. Peeking around her partner's crisp shoulder, she squinted in the dimness, trying to make out their mysterious compatriot in crime.

A child? She certainly looked as though she came with the elite crowd below, but what was she doing up here by herself in a restricted area?

Matthew seemed to be thinking along the same lines and asked the girl if she was lost. Though she answered with a harmless sounding, wisp of a voice, it send strange feelings of unease down Oriah's bare spine. There was something odd about this child, moreso than her solitary appearance in such an ominous setting.

"We'll tell you if you tell us," she challenged with a wink.

The girl child seemed to think for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. Then she nodded, and said, "I am hiding. There is a bad person who was looking for me, but I think I lost him. Alright, now it's your turn!"

She smiled. It was pleasant in an ethereal, waifish sort of way. "Well," Oriah sighed, glancing up at Matthew, "we were just taking a walk around the library and wanted to see what was up here."

The Benshira paused, looking at the miniature, blonde angel before them. "My name is Oriah, and this is Matthew. What is yours, and who are you hiding from?"

"My name is Cordelia," the girl replied good naturedly. Her expression grew stricken, however, as a thump resounded somewhere on the other end of the second floor.

"Shhh," Cordelia hushed, inching closer to them. The air grew just a shade chillier. "We have to hide. The Master is here."

[Matthew]

Oriah took over the questioning of the child, much to Matthew's delight. He didn't like children. There weren't many things that actually gave him a sense of dislike, but children were one of those things. He was a creature who lived by order and logic, by rules and common sense. Children defied all of those things with a happy smile on their face, and what was worse was how horrifyingly well they did it without a single bit of effort on their parts. Children were dangerous, Matthew was convinced of it. Oriah might notice how the completely-composed young man now had the slightest bit of an uncomfortable expression on his handsome face, and how he had put a bit of distance between him and the child even while holding her hand. They were now just holding pinkies. Perhaps a bit cute to others, but effective at keeping the child both comfortable and distant. Children seemed to enjoy simple touches like this quite a bit, he had noticed. Something was puzzling Matthew though. There were pieces to a problem laid out in front of him, and something wasn't right. He closed his eyes while the two women conversed, retreating to a mental place that was all his own. Flickering. Candle. Cold air. Cold touch. Blurry. Flickering candle, candle went out. Cold air. Cold touch. Cold air. Oriah shivered. Cold shoulders. Uncomfortable. Cold touch. Blurry. Little girl. All the words rushed by Matthew, each and every one of them associated with the related image. He scanned through them, putting minor Intelligence skills to use. He was analytical, that much was certain. Usually he could figure out puzzles with this amount of information. But as much as he tried to fit together the pieces, he was missing something. Something wasn't right. He was jolted out of his thoughts by the thump. Someone else was here with them. He blinked, quickly turning the gears in his head and adding the new information to the assorted pieces jumbled in his brain. The Master, the little girl had said. And hide? Offering Oriah one hand, he tugged on the little girl's hand and tried to offer it to Oriah as well. Hopefully the elegant dancer would relieve him of his burden. They would make a chain, and Matthew could guide the one he was more comfortable touching. "We will hide then." Even if children were something he didn't understand, he did understand that they usually spoke truth. They were transparent in their words and actions. If they had to hide, they had to hide. He gently tugged Oriah once they were all situated, leading them deeper into the shelving and away from the thump. "Who is the Master?" Glancing back to the child, his eyes brushed over Oriah's dress again, catching a glimpse of exposed leg. He spoke automatically, glancing up at her. "You have nice legs, and the dress shows them off well. It was a good choice. If your religion allowed it, you would do well as a harlot." Ah, a compliment. In his own special way. He hurried through the dusty books, blue eyes scouting around, looking for the missing piece of his newest puzzle. This was still better than having to deal with the people downstairs, he felt. Though he still wanted to give Oriah her proper attention.

[Oriah]

Her hand wrapped around that of the child's as Matthew brought them together, instinctively trying to lend some warmth to Cordelia's icy fingers. Except, when Oriah's hands closed, they touched nothing, only cold air. She looked down to see Cordelia staring at her two small hands and wondered silently why the child did not want to be touched.

Beside her, Matthew seemed consternated, but she merely attributed it to the increasing strangeness of their situation. Gods knew she was faring no better. Something was eerily out of place, evading her full awareness like smoke in the night, and it was starting to loosen her grip on any semblance of composure. The outstretched wings on her back might protect them against certain dark arts and influences up here on this forbidden floor, but was useless against mortal weapons, fireballs, and a whole rainbow of other dangers she struggled not to dwell on. Their top priority now, as Cordelia had said, was to hide.

Fortunately, Matthew was not one to question the logic of a child either as he led their little trio deeper into the dusty shelves, away from the source of the thump. "We will hide then," he said simply but determinedly. Cordelia seemed to relax a little as they moved, no doubt just as eager--if not more so--as her elders to steer clear of the ominous thumps. His reassuring words, however, lost their effect on the girl once he asked the million miza question: Who is the Master?

Cordelia's heart shaped face grew colder than ever as she answered with nothing more than, "A bad person. I don't like him."

It was good enough for Oriah, who struggled to keep her teeth from chattering. Was it normal for things to be so dreadfully cold in such a dress? She wondered how the other women did it, as hers was not nearly the most revealing worn that night.

Matthew seemed to be having similar thoughts, though under a completely different set of interests. She almost missed a step when he complimented her legs, then proceeded to suggest that were it not for her religious commitment, she would have done well as a harlot. Had he been someone else in some other situation Oriah's reaction might have taken the form of righteous indignation. But she was--slowly--starting to grow accustomed to the patterns of his unique personality. He had meant it as a compliment, she was sure, and so she took it as such.

"What is a harlot?" Cordelia whispered.

This time the Benshira did falter, knocking into one of the shelves and sending a rain of dust and leather bound books toppling to the ground.

Cordeeeliaaaa.

The sound of boots scraping against wood could be heard even admist the muffled protection of the tomes. Oriah looked down to see the child's expression turn stricken with fear as footsteps pit-patted in their direction. They picked up their pace, weaving through the shelves with almost reckless speed.

Then they hit a dead end. Suddenly, the air grew twice as cold, and the distinct scent of tobacco filled the air.

"There you are, Cordelia," a dark voice hissed. Every hair on her neck stood on end as Oriah turned to face whom she could only assume was the Master. It was hard to make out details, but even in the dim lighting she could see he was horribly, irrefutably...

...handsome.

Immaculate hair, trimmed beard, and fine clothes that accentuated the physique of a man in his prime. She gaped as his steel grey eyes assessed the trio with unsettling emotion. Victory? Contempt? Hunger...? Whatever it was, it sent waves of fear and panic through her shivering form. Oriah held onto Matthew's hand tighter and would have reached once more for Cordelia, had the Master not uttered his next foreboding words.

"I suggest you two step away from that abomination."

[Matthew]

The child had an oddly cold look for one so young. That particular type of facial expression rarely displayed for someone who hadn't been through the sort of mental evolution that made them able to produce it. Children were so carefree and happy-go-luck, so what was this child doing with that sort of expression? There wasn't even a look of fear to her eyes, not really. The young man stared at the little girl a bit more, blue eyes trying hard to focus on her face. Why was he finding it so hard? Was he sleepy? He didn't feel sleepy. Nibbling on his lower lip in thought, he quietly shook his head. He should have studied Intelligence more. His observation and analytical skills were not up to par, not like they would have been in the one or two mystery stories he had read in the library. The detectives in those books were always able to come to a conclusion through facts that were immediately available. There were so many clues readily available, so why wasn't he able to put together the pieces? His hand tightened on Oriah's just for a split second, fingers tugging at her flesh. There was a bubble of frustration somewhere in the back of his mind, and then it quickly faded. He was instead distracted by Cordelia, Matthew thankfully not slapped by Oriah. While the Benshira stumbled a bit, Matthew didn't miss a single beat. "It is a person who is paid for the service of sex." Cordelia stared at him, not missing a beat herself, her next question quite simple. "What is sex?" Matthew furrowed his brow at the child, blinking a few times at her. He didn't like children. How was he supposed to explain sex to someone who hadn't even developed the ability to feel that sort of desire? He was saved by the scraping of boots and the sudden show of fear on Cordelia's face. There was the smell of tobacco, there was the cold. There was that voice, then there was a dead end. The gears turned faster and faster in Matthew's mind, blue eyes shimmering with rapid-fire thought. Clenching his jaw, his ran his eyes over the tight rows of bookshelves, moving gaze freezing as his stare settled upon a particular one. The Master rounded the corner right as Matthew's hand shot out, grabbing the binding of the book and yanking it down to hold. Then his attention was switched, demanded by their newest guest. Matthew absorbed his appearance quickly, and then blinked again. He felt fear, but on a different level. It was distant. Matthew was on an island that contained nothing but him, and the fear was lightening and rain that surged all around the island. He experienced it, but almost as an onlooker. His body still felt the effects of it, however. He tested his muscles, checking to see if he could move. He wasn't locked in place out of fear. He must not be feeling an incredible amount yet, then. He tried to move, found that he couldn't, and sent yet another signal to his muscles. Ah, all of them were fine except for his legs. Those were probably the ones that he would need most if his distant fear ever became logical. Oriah's hand tightened on his own, and he glanced at her. Was she afraid too, or was she expecting something of him? He was no hero. He hadn't even found the solution yet. Or maybe he had. His hand tightened upon the book he had grabbed, and he found himself speaking. "I can't. My legs are frozen. I am afraid of you. Why am I afraid of you?" He spoke to the Master, his voice now a complete monotone. While most people reflected their emotion in their voice, Matthew was the complete opposite. The more he felt, the more passive his face and voice became.

[Oriah]

Oriah tore her gaze from the Master to look up at the aspiring harlot, whose voice and face were as unfeeling as stone, even as he openly admited to being rooted with fear. Confusion, intrigue, and a hint of worry. If she went through any more emotions that night, the Benshira was sure she would be able to add a book of her own to the library's immense collection.

The Master chuckled, his timber as dark and rich as his fine clothes and unmistakable aura of power. "Because you should be, old sport," he answered, one hand in his coat pocket while the other smoothed down the front of his vest, "if you had any brains in you at all. And by the looks of it, I'm willing to bet you do."

He leaned forward, eyebrows quirked. "I can see it in you, boy. Mind whirling like an Isurian machine, click clacking in its furious attempt to do what it does best." The enigmatic man was leering now, displaying rows of pearly white teeth.

"And yet your body rebels, resist. Oh, the trappings of one's flesh..."

"What do you want with Cordelia?" Oriah demanded, diverting the man's unsettling attention from her companion and intentionally leaving out any mention of abominations. If the Master was exaggerating, she hoped he would offer an explanation. If he wasn't...well, for now, the child showed no intention of doing either of her new acquaintances harm. It would be best not to incite any acts of desperation.

The Master's cold eyes fell upon her with piercing scrutiny, and she felt herself shiver even harder. It was, beyond a doubt, unnaturally, impossibly cold now. Oriah found herself leaning into Matthew's warmth, skin like ice and teeth chattering mutedly inside her mouth. The outside, evening air had felt like a furnace compared to this.

With a single, eerily graceful stride, the Master moved in closer. "With?" he hissed. "I want nothing to do with her. I want her gone! To leave me in peace!" Oriah shrunk away from his unexpected wrath. What could possibly be motivating him to say such a thing?

"Why so quiet, sweetheart?" he now seethed in Cordelia's direction. The child looked up at him with sad, pale features, as though she knew what he was about to say. "Cat got your pretty little tongue? Or are you just afraid they'll leave you too, as soon as they find out what you are. What will you do then, I wonder? Repeat history once more, like the wretched demon spawn that you are?"

Anger rose in Oriah's near frozen being, but it winked out in an instant when the Master took yet another step. He was very close now. Close enough to see, through puffs of her own, white breath, the flecks of grey in his otherwise flawless, jet black hair. A few streams of Leth's light trickled in through slits between the thick curtains, illuminating small sections of his luxurious clothing.

And then she saw it.

Mist. His body was made of mist. Swirls upon swirls of mist, churning and snaking around one another to form a semblance of mortality. And, though Oriah had never before met any of his kind, she knew the tales. Her eyes widened in realization and fear, throat stuck with rising panic.

The Master was a ghost.

Another round of chuckles echoed around them in ethereal, impossible resonance. "A smart lass, for a smart lad. How fitting. I'm almost sad to say good bye...such beauty gone to waste. But I digress."

The man floated back a step or two and smiled knowingly. It sent spears of icy alarm through Oriah's stomach. "Perhaps," he drawled, "you two should be paying less attention to me, and more to--Oh, well, look at that." The Master was staring at the empty spot where Cordelia had stood not moments before.

"She's already gotten started."

[Matthew]

Matthew wished he could say he was on his guard, but he wasn't. He was completely rooted in place. He was useless. His fingers were clenched painfully tight around the book he held, and the rest of him was squeezed just as firm. He was tense from head to toe, leaving him unable to move. He could only follow the Master with his eyes, blue stare burning as he retreated to the only thing he had left. Breath returning, coming easier. Mind slowly settling down, the emotion of fear began to vanish. His ice would naturally overcome that. He was only capable of feeling so much. He just had to survive until it was completely gone. Sending signals all over his body, he tested his current capacities. He could move his toes and fingertips. Barely working. Time until full capacity? One chime. The Master leaned forward, calling him a nickname that Matthew had never heard. Old Sport? He was neither old nor good at sports. Apparently he could see inside of the soon-to-be harlot, and that didn't make feel Matthew any more comfortable. It was eerie how the man described Matthew's mind exactly as Matthew felt it on a day to day basis. The whirring, the clicking, the buzzing. Matthew winced as something else clicked in his mind, but thankfully Oriah was distracted him. Was she aware of Matthew's current state? The Master turned, eyes finding Oriah, his stare filled with dangerously cold ice. It wasn't numbness within himself, it was the power to numb those around him. It was control over others, not himself. He was dangerous. He was so very dangerous, and apparently he thought the girl was as well. Forty seconds. The laughter surrounded them, an impossible feat for a normal person. It was only when Matthew noticed the mist that his suspicions were confirmed. Ghost. He had run into one before. A dangerous one. He was not frightened because this man was a ghost, no, there was something else. The Master suddenly stepped back one step, two steps, and then mockingly pointed out that Cordelia was missing. Matthew didn't pay the least bit of attention, his blue eyes razor sharp as he counted down in his head. He was so close. So very close. He could move in just a few moments, and movement would allow options. Options would allow solutions. He would not be handicapped like this. Fifteen seconds. "Oh well. I suppose I should start too." Matthew blinked, eyes shooting toward the Master. His mind whirled and blurred, clicking and slipping pieces into place. Thoughts danced among the gears, letters slipping and sliding through the gadgetry. No, don't start. Be distracted for just a few seconds longer. Just a few more seconds. The Master smiled, stepping forward, faster and faster, practically sliding across the surface of the floor. "Come here, old sport." Two seconds. A hand reached out, mist slamming into Matthew's chest. One second. The Master's other hand lunged forward, slamming into Matthew's chest as well. Matthew's fingers barely un-clenched, letting the book drop to the floor, the leather binding bouncing once and then twice to land face-up. Matthew suddenly chuckled, but his chuckle was no longer his own. It was a familiar chuckle, a dark chuckle, a chuckle that still surrounded Oriah. "Now, you smart lass. Help me find the pretty little abomination, shall we?" His smile was evil, eyes burning with power as he stepped forward slowly, Matthew's body now his own. A hand reached out, clawed fingers obviously meant for the dancer. His boot stomped down on the book that had been dropped, perhaps drawing attention to the title. It had been the only thing the harlot could do. It was leather bound with a gold-scripted title. Miracles of Faith.

[Oriah]

Oriah stifled a scream when the Master's mist formed hands barrled into Matthew's chest. In that single, terrifying moment of ghost melding with human, a dozen different, grisly scenarios played out in her mind. Would he rip out her friend's heart? Freeze it to a lump of ice? Torture him with icy cold pain? Paralyze him until Cordelia enacted what ever nefarious plan the Master seemed so keen on mentioning but not explaining?

What transpired next in reality, however, was so devastating it had failed to even cross her mind. Instead of screams of agony or cries for help, dark chuckles of an entirely different persona trickled forth from Matthew's shapely lips.

"Now, you smart lass. Help me find the pretty little abomination, shall we?"

Oriah's eyes went wide with horror. Where her companion's beauty was once pleasing and immaculate was now a visage of terrible, deadly malice. It sent icicles of fear straight through her stomach. So much power. Her mark would be powerless against it.

Powerless. The dancer stood rooted in terror, quivering, mind drawing nothing but blanks. Still chuckling, Matthew--no, the Master--reached out with claw-like hands and stamped down on the fallen book. Oriah's gaze flickered to its cover for a tick, barely catching the title before she felt cold, callous talons seize her bare arms and yank her forward.

The Master buried his borrowed face into the nape of her neck, breathing in her scent as he trapped her in a vise like grip. Oriah struggled to no avail. He was horribly, impossibly strong, and while moments ago she might have found relief in Matthew's warmth, there was nothing now to be felt but ice, cold fear. "Time..." the Master growled through Matthew's vocal chords. "Never enough time..."

He trailed stolen lips up the side of her face and kneaded her hips in familiar hands, causing the dancer to wince in both revulsion and confusion. While it didn't necessarily feel unpleasant, the knowledge was appalling enough. What's more, she had to resist the instinct to fight tooth and nail. It was still Matthew's body and, frightened as she was, the Benshira could not bring herself to harm him.

Without warning, the Master let her go. Well, nearly, as his--Matthew's--their hand was still clutching one of her arms.

Something thumped several shelves down.

"Cordelia," he hissed. Then they dragged her in the opposite direction of the sound until they reached what looked to be an old, unassuming wooden desk. Without hesitating, the Master opened one of the books resting on top of it, conjured a key from its binding, and unlocked the bottom most drawer. His movements didn't appear as smooth as the body's original owner's, for some inexplicable reason, but the spirit managed. He reached in and withdrew a wicked looking crossbow, already loaded with a type of arrow Oriah had never seen before. It had black fletching of a glossy texture and bore a strange, unconventional arrowhead. When she peered into the open drawer, she shuddered at the sight of a whole quiver full of such arrows.

What on earth was he planning to do?

A look of awe and hunger flashed across Matthew's handsome face as he marveled over the weapon in his hand. "Ohh, how long I have waited for this day." They let go of Oriah's arm, which had begun to grow numb from being gripped so hard. She rubbed at the red marks on her flesh and watched as they turned around, the look of awe having transformed into a maniacal grin.

"That little brat is going to rue the day she chose to meddle with a Master Spiritist," they intoned.

As if summoned by the very words, the girl child rounded one of the shelves, her hands held behind her back.

"Cordelia," Oriah managed in a hoarse, shaking voice, "run!"

And then, much to her shock, the child's face twisted into a leer almost as menacing as the Master's. "No," the little blonde girl stated flatly. "I don't want to be alone with him anymore. You can't make me!" Cordelia took a step closer, and Oriah almost lost all the strength in her legs when she saw that the girl had pulled out a wicked looking knife from behind her back.

Cordelia's face smoothed to serene and graceful sincerity. "I like you. You're pretty, and you're nice to me. I want you to be my friend and stay with me here. It would be wonderful, don't you think? Your friend can stay too, if he makes you happy. I just wa--"

The Master exploded into laughter behind Oriah, face half covered by his free hand. "You see what I mean now?" he chortled. Then his expression grew dark and terrible in an instant. "Abomination."

With Matthew's arm, he raised the crossbow and aimed it at a snarling Cordelia's head. "I'll not have you repeating our hideous history, darling."

And then he shot her.

Oriah covered her mouth in horror as the arrow struck Cordelia in the head and pinned her to an adjacent shelf. The child wailed in pain and anger, but the Master was not done. He calmly and cooly pulled out another arrow from the drawer, loaded it, and fired again. Matthew's serene features were oddly suited for the scene. The thought made her heart ache at his plight. What must he be feeling at this moment? Was he aware? Did he have any control?

All the while, Cordelia howled in fury. Whack, whack. Two more arrows impaled her helpless form. Now that Oriah knew of the Master's secret, she could see the mist swirling in the child as well. Blessed Yahal, two ghosts in one night.

What had they done to one another so many years ago?

The young girl now suffered four arrows; one through her head, two in her arms, and the last in her chest. "You abandoned me!" she screeched.

Matthew's lean form sauntered forward, crossbow resting on one shoulder. "I did no such thing. You were a wretched little demon spawn and I acted on the only choice left to me. And now...well, no good deed goes unpunished, as they say."

Bending to pick up the knife on the ground, the Master forced his usurped body to cut itself across one palm. Then he gave one, last smile that spoke only of sadness. "Goodbye, for now, Cordelia."

"Father, n--"

The Master plunged his hand into his daughter's chest. Matthew's eyes widened in intense, unwavering concentration. Unable to do anything but watch, Oriah stood by as the ghostly child's form turned into a pile of nothing but cold, gray ash.

"You're going to want to bottle that," he murmured, Matthew's voice worn and unfeeling.

And then he ejected himself from the young man's body.