Untitled (15+ for brief nudity and violence)

The Tree of Life sprouted above him majestically, the blanched white limbs reaching out from it source, spreading the Dima. Placing a weathered hand on the sacred bark, he felt the Dima course through him as it had years before, when he was just a boy. But then the sensation faltered and curled back upon itself as if it had been struck by some invisible foe. He jerked his hand back as the bark crackled and hissed around it. As if it was a well-oiled machine, the Tree coiled into itself, shutting itself off; the Dima growing faint in the process. The young man frowned at the display, never in his years had he heard of such a thing as this; the Dima closing itself off. Peering down at his hand, he found the burn impression most interesting. It was in the shape of a five pointed star with a spiraled circle in the center. Slowly it faded leaving only indents where the tree touched his skin.

The place was dark and dank, and smelled of mold. It touched his lips and nose faintly before drifting on. He didn’t like this place and it wasn’t because of the lack of light or the smell, but that when he stretched out his gift no Dima came to meet it and entangle with his own web. It was completely rotten from within, with no Dima to inhabit the venerable core, it was rank with filth; both physical and otherwise. As he cautiously stifled down the staircase into the cellar, the stench grew stronger and the abyss grew wider, and he steeled himself for what was evitable, not the light at the end of the tunnel certainly.

Flap, flap, flap; the harsh sound of bare feet slapping against frigid stone, cracked the silence of the night. The hurried pace clashed with the seemingly still atmosphere and illuminated the lithe figure that darted down the dim lit street. Although shortly after the figure vanished behind a building, brute forms of muscle followed. The figure sprinted towards some dark building, but the brutes were gaining. Right before they vanished into complete darkness a resounding snap collided with the smokeless air.

Pain erupted from every particle and vein of her body, after the two brutes had caught her, they had dragged her back to the Temple, hitting almost every stone on the way. Now she lay prostrate on the cold, slick floor of the Temple’s Inner Sanctum, blood sprouting from the gashes in her skin. An unfamiliar hand jerked her upwards. She opened her good eye and cursed. The Master then pressed his lips against her blood soaked ones crushing her to him. Then he let go sending her limp body into the ground.

She didn’t want to be healed, she certainly didn’t want a new body, and she foght the strange magik as it twisted and prodded at her malleable flesh, but in the end her mind-strength was not enough. It was her punishment, the new body. The Master had decreed it. Vera should have expected it. She hadn’t got far before they caught her, not even to the outskirts of the citadel. The healer slowly finished with her body before the brutes colleted her again.

This time she was upright when she faced The Master, and could see his colorless face within the dark robes he wore. He looked her over once more and then gestured for his men to leave. He crept up to her like a desert-cat stalking its prey. Vera lowered her face and eyes as she was supposed to do in his presence, pinning them to the ground. She felt him brush her now scarlet hair out of her face before tugging at the clasp that held her robe closed. The soft fabric pooled at her feet. She watched it ripple softly before heaving on itself. The burning scents of rose wood and lavender filled her nose, and a sour taste lined her mouth. Standing in her nakedness, her flesh prickled and she felt eyes graze on her body.

“Better,” he murmured before knocking her to the floor.