Fairy Bride Ch11: Tending Flames (Patreon)

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Daphne has never seen so many stars.

They’re scattered across the sky as far as she can see, thousands - millions - of shining lights without any bars to stand in the way.  She’s been able to shed the Glamour, letting her antennae stretch and her wings tug gently at their chains.  There’s just enough light in her tower room to read by.  It’s almost peaceful.

Daphne turns from the novel in her hands to the other book, the copy of Metamorphoses on her nightstand.  It’s a heavy, methodical work, but… maybe she has the time for that now.  Maybe when Spencer comes back she can put him on the back foot with -

Daphne stops.  Why is she even thinking about him?  Shouldn’t she enjoy the time she has?  Unfortunately, she already knows that’s going to be difficult.  Her whole night has felt… off.  Her antennae keep twitching, anticipating his footsteps outside her door.  She’s even read the dozens of texts he’s sent - although she hasn’t replied to any of them.  It’s simple attachment anxiety, for sure, but-

‘You’re clinging to the past, making yourself miserable, for what!? We both know what you want, deep down.  You just insist we call it ‘touch-starvation.’’

She tenses.  The Daphne of two years ago wouldn’t need reminders about how vile his touch was.  She wouldn’t spend hours playing mind games about whether she slept in his bed.  It’s a hard truth; the memories don’t hurt like they used to.  Once a constant, stabbing drain, their horror only returns in flashes.  By all metrics, that’s a good thing, a better thing, but…

… does she want them to?

SLAM!  Daphne jolts as the heavy door bursts open.  Lianna marches in, scowling, a small wooden bowl clutched in her hands.

“I thought you wanted rules.”  The vampire hisses.  “Mess.  ‘Assembly’ played, the roll was called, and you did not attend.  Why?”

Daphne blinks, trying to organise her thoughts.  In truth, she just lost track of time, but Lianna’s tone makes clear that she shouldn’t be so open.  “Um… I wasn’t hungry?”

Lianna sets the bowl down with a look of pure displeasure.  “Did our ancient forefathers abandon their arms when the spirit to fight failed them?  No.  So eat.”

Her antennae taste the air.  Daphne doesn’t recognise the flavour.  “Wh-what is that?”

“Chevon stew, from the leg of an ibex.  Mixed with wild onions, garlic, and mushrooms.”  She notes Daphne’s confused expression. “I was on my hunt.  Now, eat.  Final warning.”

What’s an ibex?  Daphne draws back, her wings twitching.  It smells burnt.  “Here I thought vampires didn’t like garlic - AH!”

She doesn’t see Lianna move, but she certainly feels the slap.  Daphne shouts more from shock than pain, pressing a hand to the red welt growing on her cheek.  “What the hell!?”

“You’ve been given a command,” Lianna snaps.

“Spencer won’t freak out if I miss a meal - AGH!”

The second slap is harder than the first, and leaves her ears ringing.  When Daphne looks back in stunned silence, Lianna’s eyes glow.  “Talk back to me again, and you will feel far worse than my hand.”

The vampire grabs Daphne by the ear, dragging her painfully into the desk seat.  “If you were my Kept, you’d have already been flogged.  The only thing holding me back is that your husband demanded I not harm you, so I can’t have you showing bruises.  Eat!”

Daphne hurriedly shoves a spoonful of broth into her mouth.  It’s not just burnt, it’s bland and sour.  Not a hint of the supposed garlic.  Daphne looks up at Lianna with hooded eyes, her cheek throbbing as if to warn her.

“...do you have any salt?”

“I am not here to provide you with cosmopolitan trappings,” Lianna sniffs.  “The old Spartans did not have ‘lattes’ or ‘participation trophies’.  They drank only from a black broth of pig’s blood.  You could learn from their austerity.”

It doesn’t feel tactful to suggest that the pig’s blood might taste better than her soup, so Daphne looks away.  Lianna steps around her, picking up her copy of Metamorphoses.

“Though it seems the classics have already caught your interest.”  She flips through it, looking for a bookmark.  “How far have you gotten into this?”

“Not much,” Daphne shrugs.  “We’re on holiday.  I’d rather read for entertainment.”

“Entertainment?”  Lianna laughs derisively.  “I should have guessed.”

Daphne looks at her incredulously.  “Is that a problem?”

“Entertainment is decadent.  A narcotic designed to lull us into idleness and passivity.”  Lianna rifles through the other books, tossing them to the floor.  “Under its spell, you do not think, or create, or resist.  Consider your apex race, the Dryads.  What, pray tell, have their Groves accomplished, with all their powerful magics and enviable racial hierarchy?”

“Um…”  Daphne blinks.  “I don’t know.”

“Exactly.  Debauchery and stagnation.  I wouldn’t be surprised if soon they turned to childish ideologies like Bolshevism, or democracy.”  She scoffs at the word.  “They could be warriors.  Instead, they have let their statecraft become weak, effeminate, and-”

“Not racist?”  Daphne asks innocently, before she can stop herself.  Lianna glowers at her.

“You liberals wield that word like a bludgeon, but pride in one’s race is vital for creating a strong people.  Like discipline, diligence, piety.”

“Why do they need to be racist to be those?”

There’s a pause, as if Lianna’s forgotten, but it’s quickly replaced by a frown.  “Why do you all get so caught up on race?  Does the death of all of Atlanticist civilisation not in the least distress you?”

Daphne’s eyes light up.  “Do you think Atlantis is real?”

“No, I-”  Lianna fumes, folding her arms.  “Your husband was just like this.  Too obsessed with his insects to understand our nation’s peril.  He refused to speak about anything else.”

Hard to see why.  “So why date him in the first place?”

“The coupling was entirely pragmatic.  I needed reliable access to his father, then Minister of Defense, to achieve my political objectives in Britain.”

Daphne prods at a scrap of meat in her bowl.  “Which are…?”

Lianna clasps her hands behind her back.  “The creation of an autocratic, militarised regime to restore national sovereignty, enshrine our racial virtues, and return the population to more natural forms of living.”

A brief silence hangs over them as Daphne lowers the bowl.  “...how’s that going?”

“Dreadfully slow,” Lianna huffs.  “But Cyril was quite receptive.  Said I was the first of his son’s partners to leave a positive impression.”

Oh.  Lovely.  Daphne’s about to set the bowl away when she feels hands on her wings, slowly pulling her above the chair.  Lianna runs her fingers along the scales, each ice-cold through her glove.

“This is dreadful camouflage.”

“Not my choice, actually.”  There’s an edge in Daphne’s voice.  “He got rid of the original.  It’s dye from the Market.  Doesn’t wash off.”

Lianna tugs at the chains.  “And are these his choice, as well?”

Daphne’s frustrated expression is her only reply.  Lianna laughs.  “The shame you nymphs so willingly endure.  It’s almost charming, in a pitiable sort of way.”

Daphne furrows her brows.  “Excuse me?”

“If my Keeper tried dressing me like this, he would lose both hands.”  Lianna curls a finger around the ribbon on Daphne’s neck.  “And yet you meekly accept your Keeper’s dominance, and go out in public like some prepubuscent’s pet bride.”

“I did not meekly accept this,” Daphne growls.

“The chains disagree.”

Daphne frowns.  She knows Lianna’s fishing for a reaction.  Worse, it’s working.  “Look, I have to wear this or I get punished!  I don’t have a bloody choice!”

There’s a clink in the metal, and Daphne rears back.  Lianna’s holding the chain between her thumb and forefinger, smirking with delight.  It takes a moment to realise there’s a break in the links.  She’s snapped them apart.

“You always have a choice, Kept.  Even when there isn’t one.”

Daphne can only watch in silence as Lianna pulls the metals through her piercings, talking over the sounds.  “You could have endured that punishment, any punishment, and allowed the anger that springs from it to guide you.  - HRAH! -”

With a twist, Lianna writhes the chains loose, letting them snake around the ground.

“But your anger is as weak as your spirit,” she concludes.  “And so you have silently chosen surrender.”

Daphne can feel herself shaking.  Thunder rattles in her ears as Lianna plucks the bowl from the table, turning to leave.

“‘Reveille’ plays at dawn.  We break our fast then.  I highly suggest you attend, or - ”

“I have not surrendered.”

Lianna stops, holding herself utterly, completely still.  Her empty hand rests against the door, holding it lightly.  “Pardon?”

“Who made you the expert of my bloody choices?  Have you been here, the past three years?  No.  You just make racist rants before going back to your boring, decadence-free daylife!  How could you possibly understand what I’ve been through?  What I’ve suffered?  What I’ve had to give up to even be able to stand here and…”

Daphne draws in a short breath.  Lianna casually unbuttons the top of her coat, pulling it down until the collarbone is exposed.  The fae script on Lianna’s skin is faded, but the words they form are clear in Daphne’s mind.

‘Lianna, Kept of Horace.’

When Lianna catches her shock, she offers a fang-filled smile.

“You’re Kept?”  Daphne can barely believe the words.  “But… why are the marks…?”

“Even after decades, a Keeper’s scars will always remain.  But that they dwindle serves as testament to my triumph.”  Lianna pulls her shirt back.  “I was like you, once, nymph.  But I am Kept no longer.”

Daphne’s face brightens when she realises.  “The Court.  Henri.  You passed his gate-”

“Henri Ombras?  That fool?”  Lianna snorts.  “I had no need for their putrid reforms, or any person’s aid.  I forced my escape through will alone, and when my master’s defeat was made total, the Court was forced to embrace me.”

Daphne shakes her head, disbelieving.  “How did you do it?”

Lianna’s eyes grow red.  “I became Spartan.”

She gives the word immense weight, but it only leaves Daphne confused.  “Like the Greeks…?”

“No.  ‘Spartan’ is an ethos.  A mind and body built exclusively for war.”  She lifts her chin with pride.  “No luxury is afforded.  No kindness is tolerated.  Every thought and act is dedicated to our flame.  Righteous fury, unbridled rage.  When the flame has been mastered, when there is nothing left in our soul but victory… we can create a will so strong that even magic cannot break it.”

Could she possibly be speaking the truth?  Is there a trick to end his commands, forever?  Daphne can feel something take light inside her.  A fire, but not the one Lianna describes.  Something quite different.

Hope.

“Teach me.”  The words are softer than Daphne meant them.  “Please.  Tell me how you did it.”

“I could.”  Lianna’s smile suddenly vanishes.  “If I thought you were ready.”

Daphne flinches, her stomach twisting.  “What?”

“I asked you what sort of Kept you were.  And you told me you didn’t know.”  Lianna scowls.  “The Spartan path has no room for doubt, weakness, complacency.  A single mistake could smother your flame forever.  Like any fire, it needs constant tending.  It will require you to make sacrifices you-”

“You’re telling me about sacrifices?!  He’s taken everything from me!  EVERYTHING!”

“He has come nowhere near,” Lianna snarls.  “And with a glance, I can tell.  You will not give up what you need to -”

“I HATE HIM!”   Lianna stops, shocked, as Daphne clenches her fists.  “I hate him with everything I’ve ever had!”

Lianna pauses.  “Hate is a powerful word,” she speaks softly.  “It should not be uttered lightly.”

“I know what it means.  And I know that the happiest day of my life will be the day he’s gone forever.”  Daphne smiles mirthlessly as the sound of raindrops starts to pelt around her.  “Do you want to know why I was like that, when Spencer brought me in?  Because I had enough.  I felt something inside me like never before, and it told me to call him a coward, right in front of everyone!”

Lianna watches her with growing awe.

“And you wanna know what I felt?  For the first time since this nightmare started, I felt relief.  For once, there was nowhere he could hide, no excuse he could burrow into.  He had to make me a doll to keep playing pretend!  So shut up about complacency and doubt!  I don’t know what sort of Kept I am, but I know I CAN’T LIVE LIKE THIS!”

Daphne stops, her jaw working silently.  Something behind her eyes throbbing with pressure as the rain beats down on her head.

“... I can’t live like this.”  Daphne repeats, looking away.  “But I don’t have any other way.”

Lianna remains silent.  Eventually, she turns back to the door.  Daphne squeezes her eyes shut and nods, about to return to her spot by the window.

“We start after mess.”  Lianna speaks over her shoulders.

“Wait, really?”  Daphne clutches at her heart.  “You’ll help me?”

“This feeling you describe… I did not know nymphs could feel it, but I can hear the flame.  Tomorrow, we will make it stronger.”  She walks into the hallway.  “Be there on time, or there will be bruising.”

The door closes before the nymph can reply.  As soon as Lianna is gone, she’s left with a cold gust of wind, the nervous thumping of her heart, and thoughts creeping slowly back to her husband.

“... thank you.”

Only in the vampire’s absence, does she feel safe to breathe.

Daphne rises from her bed, blinking the crust from her eyes.  The distant sounds of the bugle waft through the early morning air.

She didn’t get much sleep.  For one, her phone was constantly buzzing with texts from Spencer, and she had been ordered to not turn them off.  But more importantly, her body was thrumming with excitement, feelings she thought lost suddenly kindled to life.  How could she sleep when she might finally - finally - taste freedom?

Daphne rises to her feet, searching for her luggage.  She can’t afford to be tardy, and even flying she’ll -

She stops.  Lianna has placed something over the folded white dresses in her suitcase.  An old black tracksuit, peppered with holes and two sizes too large, with two gashes in the back to accommodate her wings.  Even when Daphne was a boy at uni, she wouldn’t allow herself to walk outside wearing it.

But the moment her eyes fall on it, Daphne knows it’s the only thing she wants to wear.

In the distance, she hears the tramp of marching feet, the distant sounds of practice gunshots.  Daphne grimaces, trying not to think too hard about what they’re practising for.  That’s for after she’s through with Spencer.

Lianna speaks from a dais, swinging her spear wildly to a crowd of paramilitaries beneath her.  She doesn’t catch what the vampire says - she’s not speaking English - but when she invites her men to join her, their words leave a bootprint pounding into her skull.

“Blut und Boden!  BLUT UN BODEN!!!”

Lianna waves them off with a salute that’s definitely not legal.  The crowd begins to disperse, surprisingly unfazed by the nymph touching down from the sky above them.  Still, Daphne gives them a wide berth.  Lianna retreats further into the pavilion, busying herself with a trunk beneath the safety her large canvas tent offers.  Daphne tries to enter silently, but the vampire’s head immediately swivels.

“You arrived exactly on time.”  Lianna notes, turning away.  “Perfect.”

“I’m ready,” Daphne sputters.  “Uh, thanks for the outfit, by the way.  It’d be pretty hard to handle that gymnasium in those - ”

Something sails through the air, clattering at her feet.  Daphne blinks, studying the object.  It’s a…broom.  Just an ordinary broom.

“...What’s this?”

“Your equipment.”  Lianna looks up, scowling.  “You’ll be using it to sweep.  Do you need a demonstration?”

“Sweep?”  Daphne blinks.  “You said I have to train.”

“You do.”  Lianna turns away, slamming the trunk shut.  “But the floors also need sweeping, so you will sweep first.  I would not assign such a task to my men, the work does not suit their sex.  Work quickly, and it will only take a few days.”

“I only have a few days!”  Daphne snaps.  “How am I going to sharpen my will if I’m spending all day playing maid - “

“Silence.”  The harshness of Lianna’s growl cuts Daphne off.  “Have you forgotten your place, nymph?  Must I stick pins in your tongue until you remember it?  You are a Kept.  Whatever you think you want, it does not come before your duties.  Am I making myself clear?”

Daphne forces her face into an expressionless mask.  She nods.  “Yes… Keeper.”

Lianna smirks.  “Excellent.  I have far more important matters to deal with than the emotions of a spoiled slave.  Start with the barracks, and work your way from there.  When you are finished, report to the quartermaster, I’ve told him to expect you.  Going forward, you’ll help feed my men.”

Daphne storms out of the courtyard, squeezing the broom so hard she swears she leaves dents.  Is this just a game to her?

“Some fucking training…”

“HYAA!  RAH!  HRAA!”

Daphne can hear Lianna shattering watermelons on the other side of the doors.  She’s not in the gymnasium yet; the corridor floors outside seem to get filthier the longer she works at them.

And with each shout, her sweeping grows harsher.

“NRGH!  AH!  RYAH!”

Daphne’s not sure who she’s more angry at, the vampire or herself.  Why wouldn’t Lianna play games with her fate?  Why would Daphne ever rely on a fucking Nazi to be honest?

Why does she let herself hope?

What if she just stopped getting out of bed every morning?  She could just sink into the covers and turn into the doll they all seem to want her to -

“RARGH!”

Daphne grits her teeth, tears forming in her eyes.  The shouts are the worst part.  It’s like Lianna is gloating on purpose.  Taunting her to listen to her ‘betters’ while she’s stuck on the floor, the lavender smell outside growing stronger and stronger until-

“ARRRAH!”

“WILL YOU SHUT THE HELL UP!”

Daphne blinks.  Heather and lemon balm vanish beneath the scent of watermelon, splattering the walls.  Lianna dangles from the ceiling, bronze shield in hand and steam rising from her nose.  Daphne doesn’t remember barging in, barely registers the shouting, but she knows immediately that she is in serious trouble.

What of it?  At this point, she’s almost too angry to care.

Lianna’s deep growl echoes through the gym.  “What?”

“I’m not fucking cleaning!”  Daphne throws the broom to the ground.  “I’m not Spencer’s servant, and I’m not yours either!”

Lianna drops back to the floor, the shield rattling as she discards it.  She marches forward, pointing.  “I thought I made your place clear.”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT  - HK!”

In a blur, Lianna’s fist slams into Daphne’s belly.  Before the nymph can even think about catching her breath, she’s on the floor, her ears ringing.  Something firm presses into her forehead, and she starts to squirm.  Her writhing antennae get overwhelmed by the taste of leather.

It’s Lianna’s boot, on her head.

“Do you care now!?”  Lianna seethes, putting more weight into it.  She smushes Daphne’s cheek

Daphne tenses, trying to writhe free, struggling to hold back tears and breathe at the same time.

“Here’s what we’ll do.”  Lianna bends to pick up the broom.  “You are going to turn over, kiss this shoe, and apologise for your insolence as many times as I see fit.  Otherwise, I will give you a punishment that will make you beg for the chance to hold this broom again.  Say you understand, Kept.”

The vampire leans towards her face at an impossible angle, her body twisting to accommodate.  Daphne can feel her entire body tremble, her mind screaming at her to give in, but -

Something inside her disagrees.  Something loud.  Something bold.  Something extraordinarily unsafe.  But the second she hears that impulse, it drowns all the other voices out.

So she does exactly what it tells her.

Lianna stumbles back, scrubbing furiously at her face, staring down in disgust.  “You… did you just spit at me?”

“Maybe I was just trying to clean off the watermelon.”  Daphne grins mirthlessly, pushing herself to her feet.  “What are you going to do, hit me again?  Go ahead!  I bet a few actual bruises would just ruin the rest of my husband’s vacation!”

Daphne closes her eyes, tensing…but the blow never arrives.  Instead she hears something long and metal strike the ground at her feet.  A spear, delivered exactly the same way as the broom before.

“Impressive.”  Lianna smiles thinly. “You only needed one try to pass the test.”

Daphne can feel her heart pounding, a sickly-hot feeling settling into her stomach.  She doesn’t know if that’s good or not, but she doesn’t want to let it go.  “...you were trying to piss me off, weren’t you?”

“You want to be angry.  Anger is an equaliser, to push beyond what you think are your limits.”  Lianna walks towards a large container, leaning into it.  “Remember what I spoke of last night, about choosing even when no choice is offered?  A Kept cannot pick their battles, but they can change how and when to fight them.  Did you mean what you said about the bruises?”

Daphne smiles grimly.  “Yes.”

“Good.”  Lianna hefts one watermelon out of the container, then another, starting a neat little pile on the floor.  “Your punishments are opportunities.  The more you provoke your Keeper, the more you can extract from him.”

Daphne eyes her.  “Don’t I provoke him already?”

“You hide from him.  In the brief time I saw you two together, you did everything in your power to refuse his advances.  That’s a start, but not enough.  Do you see why?”

Daphne shakes her head.

“How does he act when he punishes you?  As I did?”

Daphne snorts.  “No.  He acts like it’s a game, or calls it something else.  He pretends.”

“Why?”

Daphne’s eyes widen. “Because if he’s punishing me…”  Daphne’s eyes widen.  “... He knows I’m not happy.  That’s why he dances around it!”

“Exactly.  Notice how quickly he stopped that spell the moment he heard my disapproval.  That wasn’t fear, like he showed.  It was relief.  He was looking for a way out.”

“... so if I provoke him…”  Daphne taps her chin.  “He feels pressured to stop.  He can’t handle it.  He’ll give up!”

“And even if he does not, you have won.  Because you have placed this war on your footing, not his.”  Lianna smiles.  “I was worried that you’d fall back into your passive, defensive resistance.  But it seems you’re already aware that, going forward, you cannot risk anything but offence.  Excellent work, Daphne.  You’re beginning to think like a Spartan.”

Despite herself, Daphne feels a smile growing.  “So what do we do now?”

“His affection towards you is an advantage, but one advantage is never enough.  We need to discover them all, and how you can exploit them.  What are some others?”  Lianna inspects the melon’s photo and playfully lifts a brow.  “Physical, perhaps?”

“My antennae.”  Daphne makes a face, then looks behind her.  “My wings!”

“Perfect.  And with imagination, both can prove very useful.  Tell me, how much weight can you carry in flight?”

“Not much.  I… I don’t know, exactly.”  Daphne shrugs.  “I don’t get many chances to use them.”

“That ends here.  You must practise daily, ideally without your husband’s knowledge.  If you are wise, he will not realise how much stronger you’ve become until it’s already too late.”

Her anger has evaporated back into giddy joy.  “Got it.”

“We’ll start with a simple exercise.  I launch these melons into the air, you will fly up and catch them.  Hold them in your hands, feel how their shape adapts your flight.  We’ll add the spear later.”  Lianna hefts it, waiting for her wings to extend.  “Ready?”

Daphne sighs, leaning into the rough wooden chair and resting the copy of Leibniz’ Philosophical Essays carelessly on her forehead.

Lianna’s quarters are exactly what Daphne expected when she was told to read here: bare handmade furniture without a cushion to be seen.  The vampire sits across from her, scowling into a history of the Teutonic Knight Order that looks about as old as her opinions.  She never lifts her head.  “You’re displeased.”

“This book is bullshit.  Old, boring bullshit.”

The vampire loudly turns her page.  “A Spartan does not give herself to vulgarity.”

“Am I wrong?  Listen to this.”  Daphne opens up the page and clears her throat.  “‘Therefore, it is sufficient to believe that God has created the best of all possible worlds.  That he allows sin and other crimes is not a sign against this certainty, but a sign that - ’ are you ignoring me?”

“I never listen to such sophistry.”

“Then why am I reading it?”  Daphne narrows her eyes.  ‘Best possible world.’ She can think of a more perfect world right now.  It’s one without her husband.

Lianna sighs, and closes her book in a cloud of dust.  “Spencer spent decades perfecting his knowledge in the most prestigious schools of Europe.  You have a long road to travel before you can match him.”

“Match him?  In what, a debate club?”  Daphne leans up.  “Where did you put my novels?  I’ll find them, you know.”

“A Kept must match her Keeper in all subjects in order to escape.  Before that moment, luxuries are not something she can afford.”  Lianna frowns, searching the nymph’s face.  “Becoming Spartan requires sacrifices.  Entertainment is your first.”

Daphne pauses, looking around the walls.  They’re completely bare of art or colour, the only decoration a small framed photo on the vampire’s desk.

“It feels like you never stop fighting.”  Daphne says weakly.

It takes seconds for Lianna to reply.  “... Someone close to me once said the same thing.  I told them I would rest in death.”  She chuckles.  “That was before I became immortal.”

Daphne studies her face, the blank expression, the way her eyes have glazed over.  A question pops into her head, and spills out before she can think better:

“Do I have to hate him?”

After a moment, Lianna finally studies her, too.  She furrows her brows.  “What do you mean?  Do you not feel hatred towards him?”

“I suppose, but…”  Daphne bites her lip.  “The paranoia, the conspiracies.  Being obsessed like this.  It sounds…miserable. Why not focus on my freedom?  Isn’t that why I’m here?”

Something in Lianna’s expression shifts.  She looks away, her lip peeling back, a hint of fang hanging out from under it.  They seem longer than they had a moment ago.

“Without hatred, you have no flame.  Without the flame, you cannot be Spartan.”  Lianna blinks several times.  “And if you’re not Spartan, you’ll never be free.  Do not waste your strength questioning this.  It simply must be.”

“I don’t - “  Daphne starts.  Lianna’s hand slams down on the arm of her chair with an audible crack.

“IT MUST!”  Lianna looks up, her eyes bright.  “Do not repeat the mistakes I once made.  Do not join the thousands of Kepts in failure.  Spencer Harcourt has Gwyllion’s strongest magic on his lips and the entire human world at his side.  Against that, you are alone.”

Daphne pulls back, her face set.  It burns her heart to know it’s true.

“You have nothing but your hatred.  It’s the one thing they cannot take from us, the greatest tool we have.  Foster it in your heart, and you will create something more powerful than the Keeping.  Lose it, and…”

Lianna leans forward, plucking Leibniz’ Philosophical Essays from her hands.

“... you have lost forever.”

The vampire settles back in her chair, a few wisps of hair drifting down around her face.  Her fangs are still visible, curving just enough to dig into her own lips.  Daphne stares in frightened silence, as Lianna speaks more softly.

“Do not despair, mein fraülein.  With hatred, we will beat them.  With hatred, nothing can hold us back.  Our flames will kindle and grow until we’ve consumed them all.  And then they will know.  And the world will finally hear.”

She smiles, and hands Daphne back the book.  The nymph takes it, unable to keep herself from shivering.

It takes a long time before she can find her place.

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Oooooo. What’s up, everybody? Lehanna here, still cooling off from that searing hot chapter.

It looks like the woman formerly known as L is finally getting a few dubs, and from a surprisingly helpful fascist. What’s your take on Lianna? Is she someone to be trusted? Is there a deeper motive? Or is our little Nazi just trying to spread hate around.

You’ll find answers to (some) of these questions, in Chapter 12: Beneath the Laurel Tree, set to release Friday, September 29th at the same time. Thanks for stopping by, and remember! Tend those flames!