The bowl was crystalline. Clear like the water inside it. The Voidlight twinkled against it, shining purple, bleaching the Hand's skin amaranth.

She'd returned only half an hour ago, and in those few minutes she'd been busy. The Valkhound from Polaris had been stationed beyond the river (and told, for now, to not eat anyone who speaks. Sucks to be mute) and Isra had been consulted about the new source.

One room. It wasn't inaccessible to visitors, but it was far from the foyer where Eggbert greeted them. One door. No windows. The air was stagnant and cool here-- it hadn't been used for, if Aethril were to guess, five thousand years. It was good for what she needed.

The bowl was placed down on a stand in the middle of the room. She'd spent a time gathering some cushions and chairs and sofas to lounge on-- this was to be a place of quiet, after all, to sit and recuperate. She'd say peace, but Chaos brought absolutely none.

The Hand breathed. Her nails clicked against the glass of the bowl, but when called, His magic didn't come to her. Not now, she was urging-- but a second attempt was also yielding nothing.

Had the journey taken it out of her? How long had she spent awake on her feet, anyway?

There was a harsher scrape of her nails raking glass as she stepped away. She was exhausted; at the very least she could stall and try again when she re-awoke in the morning-- assuming she didn't sleep the entire day. Aethril, unfortunately, had work to do.

A huff of frustration left her nose before the door was quietly shut behind her and the Valkhand vanished through a barrier.

It'd been a stressful kind of sleep. The kind filled with tossing and turning despite the Hand's exhaustion, and inviting Obieth into the bed and pulling the Valkhound closer did very little to ease her. But, somehow, some way, Aethril did find herself waking up in her room nonetheless.

Her mouth was dry and her eyes were crusty and bleary. She needed more sleep-- but more importantly, she needed to fix that damn room.

Aethril was half-wriggling out from under Obieth again and half-shoving her along, though she seemed to be asleep for the time being. She'd be quick, at least, hopefully. A silken robe was thrown over the Hand's shoulders and she was off, seeping through the barrier and pacing barefoot down the corridor.

The room was as she left it. Cool, dark, and filled with plush furniture. The bowl of water, unaffected, still sat on its stand. Still clear. Still clean of corruption. Aethril approached it and for a time she looked into it, hair plastered over her face as her chin tilted downwards.

She sighed.

Delicate fingers entered the water and at once, it blossomed black. Voidlight shone purple and green against the liquid as it thickened and boiled, frothing like a rabid mouth. It overfilled the bowl almost at once, strands of thick oil spilling onto the white floor.

It was draining. As the slick oil yawned from its container, Aethril could feel it feeding off her very energy-- what little energy was left, that is. By the time it was over, by the time that the new source of Corruption had settled and fed into the very air, she could have fainted.

But there was a sense of satisfaction, too. Relief, as her own state of mind began to stabilize.

Aethril stepped back. She turned, padded through the corridor, swept through the barrier, and she fell into bed next to Obieth and slept deeper than she had ever slept before. Only partially on top of her own guard.

exit