Post by LACKLAN on Aug 17, 2018 14:46:20 GMT -5
Prends cette coupe de mes lèvres, Seigneur
Je ne suis pas assez fort pour supporter ton fardeau
~~August, 1997~~
Pierce, the Oracle walked slowly through the halls of Lacklan Manor, her pale hands resting lightly on her swelling stomach. With bright white hair, much like the Lord of the Manor himself, the Oracle was a spectacle for all the behold, and many gave her small bows and curtsies as she passed. Of course, it was far more than her eye-catching hair that earned her this honor; dressed in velvet robes of red and purple, walking with a stately air that commanded respect, the Oracle was known to all as one of the Lord’s wives, and the only one who had gotten with his child. In the middle of her second trimester, the woman with the metallic face had leapt passed the Lord’s other wives, those who had not been blessed with his progeny, and stood as the true Mistress of the Manor.
She felt herself smirk when thinking of her “metallic” face. Few knew her real name, Selena Jornagen, as everyone knew her as her nickname, Pierce. Nearly every part of her face which COULD be pierced by an artist had been, with two holes in each ear, four up the cartilage on both sides; a nose ring which was connected to an eyebrow spike by a thin silver chain; small gems lodged into her lower lids. She had other piercings, other jewelry as shiny as what could be seen, but just her face was enough for many to steer clear of her.
Lord Lacklan was different, of course. Tall and strong, with hair brighter than even hers that fell well past his shoulders, he was a figure of terrible beauty and power. She was but a child next to him, even more so than most; she was hardly over five feet tall, and quite lithe before her pregnancy, but he was as gentle with her as if he were holding a dove in his large hands. Of course, her beauty was not what truly caught his grey eyes, oh no. Her ability to see beyond the Veil, to see what COULD be, to See, was what brought them together in the first place. She was his Oracle, like Samuel out of the Word, and she had proven her worth many times over.
She smiled as she rounded a corner and saw a someone at the end of the hall. Tall and pretty, with legs which never seemed to end and hair of pure-spun gold, Mary Hightower was truly a sight to be seen. Dressed in a robe of emerald green which brought out her light eyes nicely, she was near as can be to a statuesque goddess out of fairy tales. When Mary had come to the truth of the Lord’s words, it was only a matter of time until she was noticed, and the Oracle had Seen it immediately. She knew that the Lord quite enjoyed her, the tallest “wife” in the harem, for wholly different reasons than he enjoyed the others, but he still had not given her his greatest gift. Only the Oracle was given that blessing.
“Mary,” she said with a small nod of her head. The Oracle’s voice was quite high-pitched, almost like out of a cartoon, but that simply added to her mystique, particularly with her Londoner accent. The tall blonde gave her a nod, much lower than the one she had been given, as we befitting their relative positions within the harem.
“Pierce.”
Few were allowed to use that name so brazenly, as all Minions, those who followed the Lord, referred to her as Oracle, but Mary, like Nicole, Ariana, and Jenna, were allowed that right.
“Are you enjoying your day?”
She did not care, but forms must be met. The Lord demanded civility, even when dealing with enemies, and so the forms were carried out. Mary nodded to her and gave a wide smile.
“Yes. I spent time watching the guards train in between Bible studies. How is the baby?”
The Oracle smiled and put more pressure on her stomach. She had felt a small kick earlier in the day, though not another; she was desperate to feel another.
“The baby-”
She cut off, mouth agape, and felt herself fall away. Her eyes glazed over and she was lost to the world.
“...demon…”
Unseen to her, Mary had a look of concern on her face as she spoke with a monotone voice she would not remember.
“....she will be...demon…skin of the moon...eyes of blood...she will be...demon…”
She snapped back to the moment, unsure of why Mary was asking her if she was alright, and gave her a wide smile.
“The baby is wonderful, Mary. Dr. Andrews says that he, or she, is healthy, and with a strong heartbeat. All is well.”
“Okay...”
Mary looked concerned, though the Oracle could not understand why.
“Listen...if you need anything...anything at all...don’t be afraid to ask, okay?”
The Oracle gave her a small nod and smile..
“Of course, Mary. Now, if you will excuse me…”
The Oracle paid her respects, small nod to Mary’s deeper, and glided on her way. She had dinner soon with the Lord of the Manor.
Prends cette coupe de mes lèvres, Seigneur
Je suis mais humain, mais chair
~~June, 1998~~
Mary Hightower sat in the Lord’s rooms with sadness on her face and in her heart. Their Lord was a wreck. Ever since the death of the Oracle, he had barely slept, barely ate, and he carried his pain on her face. She had been there during the birth of the...child...which had taken away the Oracle. She had assisted Dr. Andrews with the birth, and it was a bloody affair which still gave her nightmares, six months later. They way she screamed...the pain she was in…
“We have a rupture!” he had cried. They did what they could. They tried hard. But as she stood at his side, the...child...in her arms, she passed away. The experience had been too much, the pregnancy too difficult in the final trimester, and the small woman’s body couldn’t take it.
Mary shivered at the memory, as she always did. As Dr. Andrews, scrubs covered in blood, went to take their Lord aside to tell him what had happened, Mary had swaddled the...child. Its skin was...translucent? Shining? Both. Neither. It had a head of bright white hair, even whiter than the Oracle’s, and its eyes…
Mary stood and walked out of the room and onto the balcony, needing fresh air. June was hot everywhere, but at least it was somewhat pleasant in Maine, and the trees were a bright green. They made her feel better, made it easier to breath and think. The prophecy that the Oracle had made that day in August, the prophecy only she had heard in person, had come true on New Year’s Day. The...child...was a demon.
She shook her golden locks as she thought about the thing. Everyone saw it, yet no one dared say anything. The demon child was fussy and angry, screaming whenever its whims were not met immediately, and seemed to do things that a six month old should not be able to do. One of the servants even SWORE that she saw the thing narrow its rat eyes and smile as it dropped its rattle onto the floor to be picked up by someone. Everyone whispered about the demon, but no one would dare say anything. And why?
Because the Lord loved her.
The only time she saw Lord Lacklan smile in the last six months was when he was holding the demon, or playing with her. And in return, the only time the demon seemed to be “a happy baby” was when it was with its father. He doted on her, held her whenever he could, and demanded that the servants obey everything she could possibly want.
Mary turns as she hears the door in the main room open. The Lord walked into the room and he looked as terrible as ever. His hair was disheveled, his shirt opened uncharacteristically, a bottle of bourbon in his hand. She could not help but shake her head as she saw him take a drink from the bottle, several large gulps that she could hear from where she stood. He needed comfort, needed support, but she couldn’t give it. The harem of sister-wives were on a schedule, a schedule that had been broken down to the hour for an effective rhythm method, and it was not her time to take care of his needs. He should have replaced the Oracle, found someone to help him, but he refused.
Her heart wanted to break as she saw him fall into a chair, his great weight threatening to break it. She did her duty, and loved doing so, in the name of God and their faith, but her body also appreciated that weight of his; he was a mountain of muscle, a pillar of strength, and even though she wasn’t supposed to, her body cried out for him. Both her heart and body wanted to help him, to take away his pain and hurting, but she couldn’t.
She shouldn’t.
She
She felt her feet walk into the room, carrying her to her Lord. She felt her face break into a smile at him, trying to lift his spirits. She felt her hand take his with gentle care, encourage him to take his feet. She felt her eyes look up at him and enjoy the sight of him, even in this state. She felt herself lead him to the bedroom. She felt herself help him relieve his anguish.
She felt herself seal her own fate.
Prends cette coupe de mes lèvres, Seigneur
Encore une fois, je suis tombé devant toi
~~August, 1998~~
“Hurry! We can’t be seen. You never know who might be watching.”
Mary Hightower jogged across the grass, her hand holding her stomach, and tried to think. Her other hand was being held by the head of security, Richard Fern, who had a panicked step to his own feet.
“Honestly, Richard, is this really necess-…”
He swung around suddenly and she nearly screamed in fright at the look in his eyes.
“Of course it is! You know how far his reach goes! He has eyes everywhere. We must keep you safe.”
“He.” Not “Lord.” Richard was frightened, but he had cause to be. Everyone did. Six weeks ago, Lord Lacklan had had a terrible accident and was burned beyond recognition. Two weeks in a hospital bed before sat up, far sooner than the doctors said he should, and walked out. When arrived back at the compound, just in time to catch a group of minions meeting, he was wearing a mask to cover his ruined face and a robe to hide everything else.
Things had been bad since. VERY bad. His sermons had gained an angry, bitter edge. It was no longer about being a shining light for people, but it was now time to CHANGE them. It was not enough to lead by example any more but to FORCE them to be as God wanted them to be. Either they changed with joy or they where squashed underfoot. Her Lord was not the same person as he was before. Her Lord and the father of-
“And the child,” Mary added.
The child. Her child. THEIR child. She shouldn’t have gone to him two months ago. Shouldn’t have gone to him when it was not her turn or her right, but she did. He found comfort in her, just as they found solace in him, and now she was with child.
“Yes, that too. But it doesn’t matter unless you get out safely. Once we cross the border, we can breathe easy, but not before.”
Richard loved her, though she didn’t understand why. She belonged to the Lord, as did all the sister-wives. But she had found confidence hin him, had begun to trust him, and so it was he that she told of her concerns for the safety of her baby, and of herself. The Lord had blessed the Oracle with a child. Would he see this one the same? She didn’t know. Not with how erratic he had became.
“But Richard...”
She had her head under a hooded cloak so as not to break her anonymity with her golden locks, and walked with a stoop so as not to give away her height, as even at this early time, there were people on the dirt roads leading to the Manor. They needed to escape, needed to run. They needed time to think, time to sort everything out. Put some space between her and the Lord and tell him about the child after he had more time.
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be this way! Maybe he would love the child as his own, maybe-”
Richard pulled her roughly to the side, guiding her to a wall, and pressed her there. He was shorter than her, many men were, but he was wide and strong.
“No! We talked about this, Mary. You’re no longer safe there. We have to flee, and I’m your only means to! If we stay, harm will come to you, I am sure of it. He is an evil man, Mary. Trust me when I say this. You don’t know him like I do.”
She wanted to scoff at this. She wanted to scream at him that, no, SHE knew the Lord better than ANYONE. But she didn’t, anymore. Not since the fires. Not since his manic sermons. Not since his mourning for the Oracle had turned into a desire to burn the world to the ground.
“But he has so much love to give as well! He is so, so…”
“Don’t you think I know?? Don’t you think I’ve seen the way you look at him?? And who knows, he might love the child. Care for it as his own. But he is not the one I’m concerned with the most, Mary. And that is why we must flee, marry, adopt new identities…”
Her stomach filled with ice at this. Marry. Marry someone who was not the Lord. But if she were to escape, if she were to gain the time she needed, then she would do what she must.
“Or we will get swallowed up whole. And we must make sure we remain hidden, lest trouble comes and finds us.”
Something he said earlier rung in her ear.
“Not the one you’re concerned with the most? What in God’s name do you mean?”
His eyes grew wide with fear.
“HER! I mean HER, Mary! I have seen her, and she is worse than Him. A thousand times, a million times worse. I have seen her eyes, Mary.”
Eyes. Eyes of red. Eyes of blood. Eyes of-
“And as I saw them, my heart turned to stone, my veins filled with ice. She will devour you. Devour your baby. I have seen the eyes of the Demon Child, Mary, and I was terrified.”
She knew that terror in ways he never could. Anyone who looked upon the Demon Child knew that fear, yet were still too afraid to say anything about her. She had grown even WORSE in the last two months, almost as if her father’s mania was fueling her. She was hitting milestones she shouldn’t, already taking a shaky step at eight months. And she had learned to scream, a high-pitched wail that made your head seem on the verge of exploding, in order to get her way. What WOULD this...thing...do if there was another child? Would WOULD this...THING...do to a younger sibling, a contender to her future throne and fortune? What would-
Mary nodded. She needed to leave. Needed to protect her unborn child from their father and sister. Protect them both from what Jean-Paul and Sarah Lacklan were becoming.
Prends cette coupe de mes lèvres, Seigneur
Donnez-lui une meilleure femme
~~August, 2018~~
Aveline Lacklan was a mess.
Kneeling before a large cross at the head of a church, rows of empty pews behind her, the Queen of Red was ragged and dirty. Her bright white hair was streaked with dirt, her face filled with lines of worry, her dark green eyes red with clear lack of sleep. Her dress, as fine a cut as any in her collection and dyed a brilliant shade of red, was in need of a cleaning, and the sleeves and hem were ragged.
Prends cette coupe de mes lèvres, Seigneur
The Frenchwoman's voice was as painful to hear as she was to see. It was coarse, coming from a hoarse throat, and tinged with madness and desperation.
Donne moi la force ou donne moi la mort[/font]
She had a right to be desperate. She had won. She had WON. She had defeated the Demon Child at her own game. Had come back from a life of being locked away, of years stolen, and returned them unto the girl tenfold. Legs ruined, career ended, heart broken from betrayal. But somehow...SOMEHOW...she had returned and been victorious. And she, the RIGHTFUL ruler of the Church and compound, was being pushed aside, cast away. SHE HAD WON. Crashed into the modern wrestling scene in a way people could not understand. Threw herself at the business and her opponents with reckless ferocity. Had fulfilled her purpose, appointed by God Himself, of being the Champion of Chaos. Had walked into a horde of talent at Trios and taken her title. Had defeated Kem Dynamo before it was fashionable. Had bested the monster Necron. But then...then...
S'il vous plaît...
Then she teamed with the Vaughn girl and things changed. From that moment on, it had seemed like the girl was in her life no matter where she looked. The best friend of the Demon Girl, who REFUSED to fix her social circle of sluts and deviants, yet who the entire world LOVED. She hated her. Hated what she represented. Hated working with her. Hated being around her. And then the downfall began. Staring with that tag loss the week after defeating Necron, she entered into a whirlwind of failure. Destroyed by Necron left and right, including during a match with the girl where she was allowed to be nearly killed. It made no sense. IT MADE NO SENSE. She was the rightful ruler of this land, was the one who was praised by all of the Denizens, yet still they looked at her and cheered with their "OBVS!" chants and playing of the dreaded vuvuzelas. WHY?!
S'il vous plaît...
And then she understood. Richard came to her. Taught her. Told her. Angie...who traveled the world with wanderlust for a reason she couldn't explain. Angie...who stood taller and shined brighter than so many others, though only had half the blood to explain why. Angie...who was successful across the world with so little training, as if to have had it born in her.
Angie...
...not Vaughn...
...but Lacklan.
Angelica Lacklan.
This was her chance. Her husband's blood refused her, rebuked her, threw her away. But now...another chance. She could be her husband's child's mother. She could be Angie's mother. She could show her the Path. She could-
S'il vous plaît...
And so she prayed. All of this failure needed to end. The whispers of the "I Stand With Sarah" movement were much louder than they were when she and Redmaine took their rightful places. Most believed in the Edge and Blade of God, in the wife of their founder, but they demanded success and pushed away failure. And failure was all she had to give to them lately, whereas the Demon Child and her disgusting wife brought them championships. Whereas Angie, though no one realized her place in their world, brought them championships. Whereas EVERYONE BUT HER brought them championships.
The whispers were louder, now. They talked. They pointed. They plotted.
She was the Champion of Chaos. And so she would bring them what they craved most. She would bring them championships. She would break Angie...BREAK ANGIE...and bring her to heel as her daughter. She would BREAK SARAH AND KENZI...and bring them to heel as her daughters. They would bow and scrap for her, would cry out for her to love them and shelter them. Her three beautiful daughters.
S'il vous plaît...
And so she prayed. Take this cup, O lord. She is not worthy. But if she is, give her strength.
Give her strength or give her death.
S'il vous plaît...
x2
2013, '18, '23 
2013 
