Altitude

Hardly noticeable, her head tilted up to this new visitor. “Well, well”, her dry voice weakly answered, “I nearly started to believe that you wouldn’t pay me a little visit after all, Reynard. It has been a while…” Centuries, to be exact; Lavinia decided to stop counting at some point. She slightly panted, trying to keep herself right. It was laughable, the amount of trouble that she was experiencing merely to continue standing properly. For a small instance, she felt pity for herself. However, it faded away as quickly as it had appeared. Her body slowly turned a little towards the other, who was maybe an even stranger and more intriguing being. The woman brushed the now less curly hair out of her face, a blue and virtually amber eye warily watched the figure that wore old robes from an ancient time. “I suppose you haven’t forgotten this yet?” She carefully touched that certain part of her face very briefly. The words sounded rather haughty. But perhaps that was not the real emotion that hid behind the façade that she managed to retain for now. Anger, what some would call sincere hate, shone through the transparent cover. “Or maybe you are surprised that I’m still roaming over Earth.” A statement, like any other statement. So it would seem, at the very least. Lavinia smiled. It was a smile unlike all the others that had graced her lips before. No, this one cruelly distorted her features. It spoke of bitterness, rage and a peculiar determination. She would get what she wanted, this time… Although she had been weakened gravely to an abominable state, it was certain that she possessed more than enough will to lash out, even if the female temporarily wasn't herself. Perhaps it was different, perhaps now the truth of her being was revealed; this pathetic appearance, was that truly who she was? Even she did not know for sure. It had been a long time, indeed, as Lavinia had remarked. Memories protested against remembrance, emotions refused to be felt. Neverhteless, would it truly matter? She believed not. What had importance was the present. Only that. Her head tilted to the right a little in a mocking gesture before she began to speak again. “It appears that your trickery in the end failed, Fox”, the coldness of her breathy hoarse voice mercilessly cut like daggers, “Your promise still stands."

Slowly, the hooded figure, dressed in his heavy habit, rose off the ground. He did not turn to look at the woman, if indeed she was that. But his breathing took on a slightly more nasally tone to it. "Promise hath for itself alone reserved, the power of such hefty words. Wherefore hast thou the reason, to invoke of me such freedoms?" that light rasp, so attractive in its own way crept from under the shadowed hood. "Thinkest thou to hold power over me, Or is the audacity you show, merely I sight for me to see, and for you to put on some show? I hope for your sake, that you are not but a fake." As he spoke, he slowly pivoted to face her, none of him could be seen, his sleeves still were tucked one in the other... An exhalation breathed into the night. Had it been colder, a cloud would have been swept out with it. As it was, the night sky was swept over by clouds, clouds where a sky had been clear only moments before. Clouds with a hefty payload that were eager to begin dropping it. So, like tiny tear drops, small spheres of water came dashing out of the sky, tiny arrows lancing down to the cobbles below. They came slowly now, but with a steadily rising speed. Yet, the monk-like figure made no move whatever to step out of the way of the earthbound water. He merely waited for his answers...

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Rain. She hated it. On the inside, a raging storm gained in strength and persuading power as time slowly trickled further. Like the rain, in a maddening way. Not that Lavinia’s current state of utter vulnerability allowed her to accomplish anything of the sort that might satisfy the desire of this particular internal quarrel, to be honest. Her breathing had become ragged, uneven, while the female slowly crumbled down further. If a person would look carefully, he would notice how the ‘fur’, and dark spots leisurely increased as she became weaker and weaker. A strange wheezing sound then surrounded them both. It seemed to erupt from the fragile figure in front of the sinister other one. Her whole body shook while the scary, disdaining laugh now freely tore itself from her lips.

“…My oh so dear Fox”, the red haired one panted smirking, not without a cracking voice, “Surely you can’t have forgotten me, or this mask.” Lavinia carefully let herself sink to the ground, leaning against one of the crates; all of her strength had slipped away. Even her head rested back against the large crate, turning to the side to watch the still hooded figure. “It has been some centuries ago now”, the woman started after an instance of merely staring into nothingness, remembering events that were eternally burned into her mind. “I cannot recall how many exactly, but the Black Death pandemic had not roamed over the country yet. I was young, my age being what I looked like not so long ago.” She licked her lips, enjoying telling her story, “I was nearly the only female who had learned to read and write, you see; my father ordered a master of these arts to educate me. So it happened that I at a certain point could indulge myself with the Isengrimus.”

Lavinia closed her eyes, ignoring the upcoming headache. “My brother, however, naturally would inherit and in the end command everything, as was the tradition of that time. Everyone shoved me aside while he grew older, and thus more important.” Eyes gazed at the monk-like being. “Even my father eventually did that. Ah, how horrid; the pain I felt!” She murmured sadly. “I remembered a certain paragraph. Not from the Ysengrimus, but a heretical text that I was not supposed to read. My ‘teacher’ had faith in these strange pagan nature gods of whom I had never heard before. Nor could I hardly pronounce their names, back then. But that little part of the manuscript described how one could summon spirits and other beings of which one would not believe them to be real.” Lavinia sat a bit straighter, in a more comfortable position. “My family’s crest contained a fox, seeing as the family was known for her clever and sneaky way of solving things. I proceeded with the ‘ritual’, using my own blood, mixed with some blood of the one that wronged me. It wasn’t hard to obtain my brother’s blood, honestly. More or less lifting a knife his way did the trick. As you know, I managed to get you here.” The amber eye darkened in rage while her jaw tensed.

“You agreed to give me power, when I murdered my brother. The instance his heart would stop beating, I’d receive a force that would make me invincible and live far past a high age. But you tricked me, as I should have known. The mask that you told me to wear enhanced my human abilities a little. When I approached our home, I could already see him from afar through a window, resting near the hearth. And I killed him in a way that not even the lowest of beasts deserves. But, the mask betrayed me, by your doing, and had been showing me a mere illusion all the time. When the illusion gradually disappeared, I saw to my grave regret, that it was not my brother, but father whom I had killed.” Silence filled the air now. A painful silence that would tear her apart if she didn’t speak further. “I met you again, afterwards. And you laughed, mocking my incredible foolishness and naivety.” Bitterness now made itself part of her tone, infiltrating the steady rhythm her voice had. “However… I did kill him, later. No response came from you. Until the next day; the mask refused to be taken off my face. It felt as if it had been burned into my flesh. I have been living further until now, while the mask, although it prisoned me, was the one thing that has kept me alive. With trickery, lies and the promise of a new meeting once, which now more than obviously has arrived, I survived. So, Fox…” For a moment, a subtle familiar expression brightened up her face, only to descend to a much creepier distorted smile. “Fulfill your promise, give me my power.”

"I agreed to no such demands," From underneath the hood, a glint off of two bloodshot, almost burning eyes appeared, "But then, I also was never made privy to the agreement that you came to with your 'dear' fox." The three last words were nearly spat out. The hands drew out of their sleeves slowly. At first, it seemed as if they were unmistakably something that didn't belong to a human, like... paws, but then they came up into just enough light. Not paws, hands curled badly and, could it be, burned until almost black. As if the rain meant to dispel the very last of the illusion, it swept the hood down along with the hands, caressing the tortured face within. The visage was nothing if not painful to behold. An old man, balding, with a strong broad chin and a stocky neck stood there. Once, he had been handsome, that much was not hard to see, if one could bare to look at the hideous disfigurement of his features. A huge scar, like a claw mark almost, stretched from his right eyebrow down across his nose and to the left extremity of his full and otherwise lovely lips. It caused his breath to rasp, not unlike the panting of a dog. The effect was so perfect that one might have even construed that it had been a deliberate reconfiguring of the natural pieces. The right eye was also scarred, and slightly milky, but even through that a person could see the fire of a vicious desire.

"I payed much to be able to traverse as far as this tonight, hoping vainly that I would be sent as far as I had intended to go. Although, I suppose I had been warned... about the wiles of a beautiful woman," again the last word was treated like a disgusting and vile piece of so much bile coating a smidgen of undigested food being spat out of the mouth that it was almost hard to believe that he could hold such animosity towards someone he had just met. "So, I am sorry, Madame, but neither tonight, nor on any night shall you see your most precious usurper. The fox has slipped through your grasp and mine." At that, he looked down at his blackened, charred hands. "Although I hope you don't mind if I believe to myself that of the two of us, should we be evaluated, I had lost something a bit more than you in my endeavor even than my humanity." His eyes turned to what some might call an anthropomorphic fox, and the one eye that still showed expression well did show a dint of pity, and a glint of something else. "Of course, why he would stay away from you, I know not, after having made you into what very well may be his own perfect bride. After all, aside of the clever mind, you have his features," it was a cruel thing, and he knew it, but he was not in the mood, obviously, to be courteous.

"Perhaps he is lax to come where so foul a stench might follow," the voice sounded like it came from above, but it was too indistinct to tell. But the man dressed as a monk seemed perhaps to hear something more. He spun about, revealing more scars, one separating his left ear, and another across the back of his near bald head. Both of the protrusions was nasty and puckered. They looked almost freshly healed, and they look somewhat infected. his raspy breath came quick and furious. "You," he nearly shouted through his scratchy tones, "You had best show yourself, demon!"

Right behind the woman fox, the shadows drifted up until they seemed to be quite like a man. It was her figment again. "Does the sight of me put you at ease?" each word was pronounced quite amiably and with friendship, but somehow it was obviously a mockery, for the seeing was anything but easing to the old fellow. His breath came in wheezes, painful to even to hear. He fumbled wildly for something under his habit, a cross. It came out, clutched in between his burnt hands. Some prayer or other was rapidly recited like an incantation. The shadow man only smiled, softly, sweetly. Somehow, that was the worst thing that he could have done to this man before him who stumbled backwards, and fell on his rump. "Forgive me, my Lady, for this intrusion," the pale companion spoke softly, "I have stolen something from you, I fear, that I ought not to have owned, but knowing what I do now, I would willingly aid you in the finding of your most esteemed friend." The monk looked almost driven to madness, wild at the sight of this simple, if striking, man. "We both have made a deal with the devil," he sort of gurgled the words out, "But if you agree to that man, even old Lucifer himself won't be able to save your immortal soul!" Dark eyes turned towards him. His own eyes grew frightfully wide, revealing them in all there reddened and injured horror. The dark eyes left him. But he remained frozen as if in shear terror, staring into the depths of Hell itself.